The Practical Examination
by blkdrgn
Summary: If Hermione can't pass the practical examination for Professor Snape's Ancient Healing Arts course, she will fail the class. Not only is mastery of the exam spell eluding her, she's been hiding a crush on Snape all term. Will Hermione pass Ancient Healing Arts? Will Snape find out her secret?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Things you'll probably get from context:

This is somewhat of an alternate universe fic, in that I completely disregard most events in Book 6.

Premises:

Hermione is 16 years old, in her sixth year.

The Dark Lord's forces are still mobilizing.

No Horcrux quest for Harry and Dumbledore. And no Astronomy Tower showdown...because as you'll see, Snape has other things going on.

Hermione and Ron are not romantically interested.

Of course, if you're in this for the romance/sensual bits, I doubt you care much, anyway. ;)

Hope you all enjoy, and thank you for reading.

The Practical Examination

"Miss Granger, you're up," Professor Snape snapped.

I tried to wipe my hands discreetly on my gray pleated skirt before rising from my desk. Myra Cross, my partner for the practical exam, joined me at the front of the classroom. She had already graduated Hogwarts and had returned specifically to take this class: Ancient Healing Arts.

I felt lucky that she had been willing to go first, giving me one more chance to see the curative before I attempted it in front of everyone.

I assumed the hunched position of a wizard who'd just been blasted with Hexus Vociferus, the fearsome root of most modern curses. Myra gracefully laid her cool, pale hand on my forehead, brushed back my hair. The other hand, she placed over mine. Her voice was a stream flowing over smooth rocks, soothing and soft. My eyelids lowered. No! It was working too well! Her influence as a wizard was just too strong to resist!

Before I knew it, the spell was over.

"That will suffice, Myra," Snape said.

Suffice? I thought. Ha! Snape was one to be so stingy with his praise. Myra could teach the class better than he could!

Hurriedly, I put those thoughts away. It was my turn now. My heart, calmed from the curative, started hammering away as if to make up for lost time. Myra knelt, bowed her head. Her silken blonde hair spilled over her perfect profile.

I wiped my hands one more time, not caring who saw. I took Myra's hand and pushed back her white-blonde hair. Her skin was simply flawless, I realized with a flash of envy. I needed to ask what charm she was using to keep her face so clear.

The first of the ancient, sacred words came out as a croak. They had been so beautiful in Myra's voice. I sounded like Harry when he had a cold, my voice as cracked as a sidewalk with roots coming through it.

That didn't matter, I told myself. So long as the curative worked. But Myra's eyes weren't closing the way they were supposed to.

Something wasn't right.

Oh. I had my hands opposite. It was supposed to be the right hand on her head.

There, that was better. But now my heart was going so fast, the words vibrated like someone was pounding my back.

Maybe closing my eyes would help. There were seven sacred verses to invoke the curative. I uttered them, faster than I probably should have, endeavoring to slow down with the last three. Then it was over.

When the curative took effect, a ghostly white aura would show around the recipient. Myra didn't look any different. I twisted my hands together, hoping against hope that the aura had formed, that it had just been a small one.

The class gazed back at me with dead stares. No feedback there.

"Did you enter the trance, Miss Cross?" Snape's voice came from over my shoulder. A startled jolt ran through my body. Snape widdened his dark eyes at me, a look I secretly called his crazy eyes. It took me from flinching to frozen in a breath.

Myra gave me a look of apology before saying, "No, Professor."

"Thank you, Miss Cross. Miss Granger. You may take your seats."

Snape glided to the front of the classroom. "It is fortunate that this was a mock practical; the results were even more miserable than I expected. Half of the class failed outright. And those who passed did not do so strongly. You all have work to do if you expect to be ready for next week," he said. "Class dismissed."

I was halfway out of my seat when –

"Miss Granger! I wish to speak with you."

I dragged my leaden feet to the podium. "Yes, Professor?"

"Starting tomorrow, I will be holding nightly tutoring until the exam is over. You should avail yourself of it; you need it. That is all," he said as I continued to stand there, open-mouthed.

His penetrating gaze followed me as I hurried to my desk, then scurried out of the room. I had to get out of there!

Back in my room, a single awarded to me because of my high marks and significant class load, I flopped onto my bed. I could use, I reflected wryly, a curative to restore the smoldering ruin of my dignity.

I was the youngest student in Hogwarts to enroll in Ancient Healing Arts. The other students were seventh years and some returning graduates earning their certificate. Academics had always been my joy, but in this class, I had finally met my match. As of midterm, I was in the lower midsection of the class. My post graduation advisor insisted that I not worry about marks. So long as I completed the class, I was assured a special note in my academic record. But I wanted to be in the top percentile. It wasn't just to match the high standards I had set in the rest of my classes. If my marks were in the top ten percent, I would be eligible to intern at the Ministry of Magic in any department I chose.

In addition to academic distinction, I had...another reason.

At the start of term, I'd had this dream about kissing Snape. I'd laughed about it when I woke up. Snape was so gross in real life, with his pasty skin, greasy black hair, his sneering, scowling face. In the dream, though, he'd been like a movie star. His grating voice had actually sounded oddly melodic.

Then I'd learned that the original Ancient Healing Arts professor had bowed out of the position. Snape had taken over the class, and that's where the trouble started. His hair just didn't look as greasy this term. Now that he wasn't forced to play zookeeper to a bunch of first and second-years, I discovered he was seductively well-spoken. And how had I never noticed his eyes? They were like fathomless pools of midnight mystery. Whenever they met mine, I found myself utterly lost.

I could have dropped Ancient Healing Arts within the first two weeks of term, but I kept on. Did I put myself in this situation just to be near him? I have to admit, on some level, I did.

And now I was stuck with him. I had to get through this practical exam, no matter what! Not only for my own pride but to prove myself to Snape! (Just what that would accomplish, I was unsure, but I knew in my heart, it was very important.)

{***}

According to Snape's message, tutoring was scheduled every night that week after 7 so the working students had time to get to Hogwarts. I hurried back to my dorm after my last class of the afternoon at 4:30. My heart was thumping as I stood in front of the mirror deciding whether to change clothes or do something with my hair.

I laughed softly at myself. It wasn't like I was going on a date with Snape. No, nothing like that. Even if there would be fewer students tonight. It could be a downright cozy gathering...

I'd skip the hair, I decided. It was too frivolous. I would change out of my uniform, though. I might be the youngest in the class, but I didn't have to look it. I went through my closet twice before choosing a pair of dark skinny jeans, a black fitted blouse, and black ballet flats.

There, that was done. Now for more important things. I had papers to finish and exam revisions to do for other all my classes. Yet, I just couldn't seem to concentrate. I kept glancing at the clock, wondering if it were time to hurry to dinner and grab a quick bite before heading for the tiny classroom in the southwest wing of the castle. How was it that Snape's classrooms were always in basements, anyway?

Finally 6:00 arrived. I had planned to leave at 6:15, then decided 6 was close enough. I joined Harry and Ron at our usual table, picking at my plate of shepherd's pie and half-listening to them talk. At 6:45, I set off for the southwest wing.

The Ancient Healing Arts classroom was at the end of a long corridor lit by braziers. In the shadows, the bricks took on a chilly blue cast. The frayed red carpet with its faded gold trim silenced my footsteps. It was always a quiet hall during the day. I had never ventured down it at night, and it seemed deserted now. I would have to be extra careful on my way back to the dorm. Hogwarts had increased their warding spells and even posted guards around the castle entrances. Still, Professor Dumbledore had warned us to beware. The Dark Lord was stirring, and an infiltration of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was always a possibility.

"Hullo Hermione!"

I jumped at the voice and whirled around. It was Kevin Carter, one of my classmates from Ancient Healing Arts. I'd had no idea he was coming up behind me.

"Oh, hello." I smiled weakly and raised my hand in greeting. "So you're here for tutoring, too, I take it?"

"Yes." Kevin was a portly man with pale skin and a fiery red beard. What hair he had left on his head was cut super short, almost shaved. He worked as Healer in the children's ward of St. Mungo's, something I could understand; His easy-going ways and wide smile always put me at ease. "I've almost got the spell down. One night, maybe two, and I'll have it."

"I wish I could say the same," I murmured.

"Just give it some time, and believe in yourself," Kevin said. "I'm very impressed that you're taking this class in your sixth year. I know I was nowhere near that level when I was your age."

"Thank you." I felt a little better already. We were almost to the classroom. "Would you mind being my partner today? I'd really like for you to tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Sure!" Kevin held the massive wooden and iron door open for me. Inside, two students, Kim Harker and John Taglia, had already arrived. Kevin and I took a seat next to them. Kevin opened his mouth and let out a long breath. "Nope, can't see it yet." He rubbed his arms. "Think they keep it cold enough in here?"

"That's the chill Snape left behind," John remarked.

Kim and I giggled.

Kevin glared all around. "Miss Granger, what do you find so amusing?" he said, imitating Snape's voice. "There is nothing funny about the Ancient Healing Arts! They are as serious as I am –" He cut off in mid-sentence as hinges squeaked behind us and the door slowly swung open.

Luckily Snape was engrossed in conversation with Myra.

"I do apologize for being late," Myra was saying, breathlessly, as though she had been running. "My last meeting took longer than anticipated."

Snape waved his hand dismissively.

I scowled. There he went, Mr. Double Standards, himself. If I'd been late, he would have subtracted points from Gryffindor and made sure they all knew about it. A brief stab of jealousy caught me in the chest. What if he found her attractive?

"Good evening," Snape greeted us from the podium. "Tonight you will work with partners on the practical. I will observe you and explain specific areas that need improvement."

"Professor Snape," I called out. "Kevin and I have already decided to work together."

"Need I remind you who the professor in this class is?" Snape growled.

Inwardly, I seethed at myself. I should have kept my mouth shut. I was just so anxious for this evening to go right.

"Miss Harker. Mr. Taglia." Snape waved at Kim and John as though they were moths fluttering around his face. "Mr. Carter and Miss Cross." He would put Kevin with Myra. I seethed. But more importantly...

"Who does that leave for me?" I demanded, my face flaming, despite the icy dungeon air.

Snape glided toward me.

"No. Oh no," I murmured. It took every ounce of my self control not to bolt from the classroom. Answering Snape's questions in class was difficult enough, especially when he left the podium to loom over my desk. When he was near me, it was like all my thoughts turned to unintelligible radio static.

I can do this, I tried to reassure myself. I've been over the pronounciation every chance I get: in the bath, right before bed, waiting for Harry and Ron in the dining hall. I've even practiced holding Crookshanks – well, until he scratched me. But my pillow was pretty close.

A real person would have been better, of course. But how could I tell the girls in my dorm, or even my best friends Harry and Ron, that something academic was beating me?

"Miss Granger."

I jumped. Snape had moved so close to me that I could feel his body heat.

"Have I finally stumbled on a concept you can't grasp?"

I glared at him. Then to my surprise, he knelt before me. Scenes from romantic movies and jewelry ads shot through my mind.

Merlin's beard. I was actually going to touch my professor. I fought recollections of my dream. Although I knew it was critical to concentrate on the curative, my mind was already committing every second of this awkward situation to long-term memory. So much for priorities.

I shoved back Snape's hair, let my hand rest against the surprisingly warm, smooth skin of his forehead. (I suppose I had expected him to feel slimy like a toad.)

When I took his hand in mine, my heart sped up so fast, I was certain I'd been given away. Snape only murmured, "Are your hands always so swampy, Miss Granger?"

Despite the chaos in my head, my prior practice had paid off. I uttered the seven ancient verses with only a few tremors in my voice.

Still there was no aura. And Snape's eyes were wide and alert; the thought of trance hadn't even entered his mind, I could tell. "Excuse me for a minute, Miss Granger." Snape disengaged from my awkward almost-embrace. "Let me take some time to assist the other students and think about what your problem might be."

This couldn't end well. While I waited, I narrowed down Snape's conclusion to two options. First, that he was going to tell me I was just too young for such difficult subject matter and needed more fundamental classes and experience as a witch in general. The second, much worse alternative was that he had finally sniffed out my crush on him. Who knew how he'd hold that over me?

Miserably, I watched Kevin and Myra demonstrate for him. There had to be something I could do. Maybe Kevin could give me a bit of his wisdom, even if we hadn't worked together. If I couldn't pass, I'd get as close as I could, I decided. The determination gave me a flicker of hope. However, it died quickly as I observed that Kevin didn't seem to be doing anything differently with Myra than I had. Even the pronounciation was the same. But for him, the aura appeared.

What was wrong with me?

Would I have done any differently tonight if I had worked with Kevin instead of Snape?

"You've cast the spell successfully, Mr. Carter," Snape said. "If you can do so again on Monday, you will pass the practical examination."

Kevin smiled broadly. "Thank you, sir. I'm sure I can."

"Excellent." How different Snape's smile was in comparison: cynical and slightly sinister. "Then there is no need for you to come to any further tutoring sessions."

A sinking feeling entered my stomach. It was good that Kevin had ironed out the issues he needed to with the spell. Still, I couldn't shake the sense that he was leaving me.

"I will hold another tutoring session tomorrow evening here at the same time," Snape addressed our small gathering. "You are welcome to attend...or not. Either way, Miss Granger and I will be here."

My cheeks hot with embarrassment, I waited for the others to leave before approaching him. "Professor Snape," I said.

He didn't look up from loading his books into his satchel.

"Why can't you tell me what I've done wrong tonight? Surely it can't be that complicated; I've been over every aspect of the spell countless times. And, I have a great deal of work to prepare for my finals."

"What makes you think, Miss Granger, that I'm thrilled to spend my evenings with an insufferable know-it-all?"

Coming from anyone but Snape, it would be a valid question. What did he do at night and on the weekends, anyway? I pictured him reading old tomes or performing Potions experiments.

"Why did you insist I come, then?" I said. "Why not just fail me and gloat about it as you no doubt want to do?"

Snape's usual sour expression flashed into fury. I took a step back from him. "I don't know why this spell is eluding you!" he snarled. "The Hermione Granger I've taught in the past ought to have mastered it weeks before now," he continued, more softly.

I couldn't speak. I was just too mortified. I felt every limitation of being 16 years old with a massive, immature teacher crush.

Snape motioned me to the door. His hand lightly brushed the small of my back as he ushered me through.

"Good night, Miss Granger."

{***}

The next night, the classroom was empty when I arrived. It remained deserted until Snape entered. My heart, already in a state of quiet agitation, leaped into my throat. I barely dared to speak, fearing my voice would tremble and give me away.

"Show me the spell again, Miss Granger," Snape instructed, without so much as a _good evening_.

Oh no. I was utterly unprepared for this. He wasn't even speculating on what he thought I had done wrong. I hesitated. Snape was already kneeling in the same spot Myra had for the mock practical.

"What are you waiting for?" His glare was like a slap across the face.

I couldn't answer him. I dragged my feet to his side and let my fingers slip through his inky-dark hair. A tingle crept through my hand. Snape's fingers remained limp in my slightly-shaking clasp. Again I recited the words I had practiced so many times before. They were beautiful, I had often thought while trying to contort my mouth to form the syllables. If only they weren't beyond my reach. I spoke the last words with my eyes closed. I didn't need them open to know that there had been no aura. Tears burned my eyelids. With a monumental effort, I pushed them back. Opening my eyes, I found Snape staring at me. For just an instant, it seemed like I read something in my professor's face, completely removed from his usual cynicism, impatience, and irritation. But I could no sooner articulate what it was than make this spell work.

"I see what your problem is." Snape rose gracefully to his feet without extending a hand to me. "Technically you did everthing right. But let me ask you something, Miss Granger. Were you believing in your own abilities?"

"What does that have to do with anything? In my experience, doing everything 'technically right' makes the magic work," I said.

"In that, you have overlooked something important. There are many types of magic. The Ancient Healing Arts are older than wands. The magic comes from within the caster."

I remembered reading these facts from our textbook introduction. At the time, the implication hadn't been clear to me. "But...you can't make yourself feel a certain way," I murmured.

"May I suggest that you take a long, searching look within yourself? If you don't, you'll find yourself facing failure for the first time in your life," Snape said in a voice as pitiless as winter.

{***}

Somehow I made it to the library, though I don't remember how I got there. Snape's words had cut, deeply, into a wound I hadn't even known I had. School had always been so easy for me. Part of the appeal of Ancient Healing Arts was the challenge it posed, how important adult wizards used it to enhance their careers and the lives of others in the wizarding community. I didn't know much about the world outside Hogwarts. I was still just a 6th year. Surely I was capable of more than just studying...

"It's Hermione!" a voice announced. I emerged from my musings to see Harry at a table with Ron, Neville, and Dean Thomas. "If anyone'd know, she would!"

I spent the next hour helping them with our Potions final. I felt considerably better after, seeing their smiles, watching their faces brighten, reassured that they would pass their upcoming tests. They left a little after nine. I decided to stay in the library, since I didn't feel sleepy. The lamplight and shadows on the books was comforting, and I just couldn't think any more about the healing arts tonight.

Predictably, I lost myself in a book (actually several). It was eleven o'clock before I started back to the Gryffindor dorm. This would be the last night I could do this, I told myself. My first final was the day after tomorrow.

I crossed long stretches of faintly-lit halls and winding flagstone stairs, growing increasingly uneasy with every minute. If I encountered Argus Filch, I could simply tell him I had been researching in the library, I tried to reassure myself. My foreboding continued to grow, and I began to walk faster.

Lights up and down the hall flickered. Something darted in front of me, only to vanish into the shadows at the side of the hall. I froze and bit back a gasp. Dumbledore's refrain from many morning announcements came back to me with chilling clarity. "Dark times have come to the Wizarding World. We at Hogwarts will take all the precautions we can, but you must know that anything can happen. Our enemy is cunning and determined. Don't walk alone."

I drew out my wand.

My enemy, three wizards robed and hooded in gray, hissed and stepped out of the shadows.

"Petrificus totalus!" I shouted, only to find myself immobilized. Somehow, they had thrown my spell back at me! The impact made me sway, then topple to the floor. There I lay, helpless, while they advanced. _Run! Run!_ My heart beat frantically. The three gray figures advanced, their wands held toward me.

"Sectumsempra!"another voice shouted. The wizards were flung from my field of view; neither willpower nor effort could free me to see what had happened to them or who my rescuer was. The most I could discern was bodies hitting the walls and groans. Then the hem of a black robe came closer to me. Its wearer knelt; the wandlight revealed...Professor Snape?!

"Finite incantatem," he murmured.

With those words, feeling returned to my limbs. I struggled to a sitting position, my limbs shaking. My attackers lay on the floor in various states of twitching misery. "Professor," I whispered. Before I could thank him, one of the gray-robed wizards pointed at Snape and spat gutteral, ancient words I could not understand. Snape sank to his knees beside me, his face twisted with pain.

The spell caster gave a last gurgling laugh.

Panic shot through me. Whoever the wizard was, he had used his last breath to curse Snape!

I lurched toward the fallen professor and dropped to my knees. My hands shook. I wanted to run for help. My head swam from panic that threatened to make me faint from its intensity. Snape's body convulsed, nearly knocking me backwards. The curse was too swift! By the time help came back for him, it would be too late!

I knew one spell that would save him: the curative that I couldn't cast.

But I had to. It was Snape's last and only hope.

I shut my eyes. Please come, magic. I need you.

Everything had to fade away: the dimly-lit hallway that seemed to stretch into eternity in both directions, the enemy wizards, my fear and reservations, even Snape himself.

The magic and my need for it were everything.

The words I had practiced so many times came to my lips. For an instant, they were lines I had over-rehearsed and would now speak from my usual rote. Then they turned to gibberish, the way a familiar word will when said incessantly.

Please come back! For this man's sake, not my own!

And then I knew. The curative wasn't about the caster's glory. First and always, its purpose was for saving another person. Could that be how the older students had understood it first, because they had spouses, children, and in Kevin's case, patients to protect?

I opened my eyes, and saw...!

An aura around Snape, pale silver and gold like the thinnest thread-trails of winter clouds. As my professor stirred, I knew he would be alright. We hadn't discussed it much in the context of the practical because the people we were casting it on weren't really cursed. However, I remembered from the text that a successful spell would give insight to the condition of the person being healed.

"Miss Granger, are you hurt?" There was something off about Snape's voice; it was an imitation of his usual effortless detachment.

"No." I couldn't hold back my tears. "I'm just so glad you're alright," I choked out, throwing my arms around him.

For a wonder, his arms settled around my shoulders. We remained that way for a long time: him silent and still while I sobbed. Finally I had no more tears. With raw, aching insides, I drew back from my professor and dared to meet his eyes. His stony mask had fallen away; a tenderness I had never seen before softened his face, brought light to the previously inscrutable darkness in his eyes.

"Come back to the classroom with me," he said. "I have set protective wards there. It will be safer to talk."

I expected Snape wanted to say "I told you so" or something related to my casting the curative on him. Instead...

"Your concern for me is surprising," he said with a trace of his old wry wit.

My gaze dropped to the row of buttons marching up his chest. A shudder rocked my body. He was dangerously close to the truth. "It surprised me, too." My attempt at repartee emerged as the driest of whispers.

"Did it?" Snape stepped back and tilted his head, appraising me with his most probing gaze. "I always wondered why you seemed so afraid of me this year. I've never liked you, Miss Granger, but that never stopped you from standing up to me. Suddenly this year, you could barely say a word to me."

Twin fires started in my cheeks and spread all the way to my jaw and ears. And just like that, my voice was gone. Not that it would have helped much. The effort of bringing forth intelligent words and uttering them in a firm, clear voice was unthinkable in the face of Snape's burning scrutiny.

Snape moved so close his lips brushed my ear. "It all makes sense now."

Suddenly he drew me to him with a touch both delicate and strong. His lips savored mine. I melted into his kiss, into his body. For a moment he drew back. His eyes mirrored all the longing in mine. Snape let his hand drift across my face, brush my hair. This gentle interlude gave way to a more passionate kiss. I moaned as Snape's tongue entered my mouth. I gripped his robes; the flesh beneath them was warm. I could feel his subtle yet hard muscles so different from my own. His hands had begun an exploration of my body, too, caressing and squeezing my back, my hips, lower still. I gasped.

Snape moved his mouth to my neck, attacked the sensitive skin there with his teeth and lips. His desire was so raw, so rough. It thrilled me more than any dream or fantasy I'd ever had. I wanted him; I wanted every minute of this. With deft fingers, he undid my blouse. In the cold air, my nipples jumped to attention. Snape pinched one through my bra, then the other. I bit down hard on my lower lip. He smirked at my reaction as he cupped my breasts in his hands. The dungeon air was chilly, but his touch was warm, so warm!

My own hands started down his waist. Snape gave a strangled gasp. At the same time, my watch beeped to mark the hour.

"You're not supposed to have that, Miss Granger." Snape chuckled softly as he seized my wrist. "It's late," he said. "You should go back to your dorm."

I didn't want to. But I couldn't risk getting caught, not after how far we'd come.

By an unspoken agreement, Snape and I made our way down the dark halls together. We did not touch or even speak. All the while, I soared on the memories of what had happened between us and thrilled at the times his shoulder or hand brushed mine.

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, Snape and I stopped. His eyes were even darker in the torchlight, shadows and desire increasing their depths. His gaze was as intimate as any touch. Heat rose in my face, traveled to the skin beneath my clothes. Snape smirked, or maybe it was a smile for him. I tried to smile, too, only to turn away, shyness overtaking me at the last minute.

When I looked up, Snape was several torches away. I waited until I could no longer see him before speaking the password.

The cozy fireplace, banners, and comfortable red chairs of the Gryffindor common room were just as I had left them, and yet, everything had changed while I had been away.

In the embers, I saw the unfinished mystery of what Snape and I had begun tonight. What, I wondered, would it be like to sit in front of the fire with him, to continue where we had left off? Perhaps one day I would know.

I slept well that night.

{***}

The next day during breakfast, Dumbledore announced the capture of the Dark Lord's mercenaries. He never mentioned Professor Snape or me. I couldn't tell from looking at him whether Snape had told the Headmaster.

"Yesterday's intruders were stopped before anyone got hurt," Dumbledore said. "Since there is less than a week left this term, we will finish it. For the safety of our students and staff, we will double our guards and set curfews immediately after dinner. Any students who have early exams will be encouraged to return home."

"What about next term, Professor?" a student called out.

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. It was the first time I had seen him look so tired...and old. "That remains to be seen. We will inform you by owl post."

Again I looked to Snape. I couldn't seem to stop. I'd see him one more time at least, for the practical that I was finally confident I would pass. And beyond that? A war could close Hogwarts. We might never see each other again.

A thrill ran through me as Snape's eyes met mine. He saw. He knew!

Nothing was for certain. Still I dared to hope for more, for us. And I knew in his eyes I saw the same.

To be continued?


	2. What is Really Important

What is Really Important

A/N

The age of consent in Britain is 16. It's 18 in the U.S., I believe.

"You have two hours to complete the final," Professor Snape instructed the sixth year Potions class. "Are there any questions?"

For a minute, there was no answer except nervous shuffling and murmuring. I couldn't blame my colleagues for being stunned. Several classes had already given mini-finals to speed up getting students home from Hogwarts. Not Snape, though. He had passed out a full final, a stack of parchment not much thinner than a telephone book.

Personally, I wasn't intimidated. I could have passed this exam weeks ago. After Ancient Healing Arts, Potions was a stroll around the castle grounds on a fine spring day.

"Will you be grading any easier, sir?" Ron said after a long silence.

Snape just stared at him.

"Because of the war," Ron explained, his voice shaking a little.

"War hasn't been declared yet, Mr. Weasley. And don't expect any concessions on this exam. You have had a full term to prepare. You should all be aware that it is unwise to gamble six years of studies for dreams of grandeur in wizarding combat. Though Mr. Weasley might not be losing all that much, given his performance in my class throughout these years."

Ron gave Snape a pathetic, panic-stricken look, as though the Potions professor had just predicted his marks for this year.

I didn't join Harry in scowling at our professor. Things had changed between Snape and me recently in ways I never could have imagined this time last year. Surely Snape was just stressed about having to give the final and hurry up and grade it. I had no doubt that the professors would have their own measures to prepare for war, which could begin any day now.

Not that I was the most accurate judge of Snape's moods and motives. I had actually been looking forward to the Potions final. It would be one of the last times I would see Professor Snape until next term, which, in itself was an uncertainty because of the inevitable war with the Dark Lord. No one knew just when the war would start; however, _The Daily Prophet_ anticipated that wizarding students would be lucky to get half a term next year.

Before the night Snape saved me – already it was a legend in my own mind, though it had only been a week – I thought I could be satisfied for the rest of my life if he only knew how I felt about him and reciprocated the attraction. Beyond my wildest fantasies, my professor had kissed me, touched me in ways and places I had never been touched. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't noticed my watch and seen the time?

What had happened had been wonderful. I thought about it at least ten times a day. But I wanted more. I wanted it to happen again. I wanted to go further, to test the limits, maybe even surpass them.

To achieve this end, I made it a point to stay until the last student had turned in their Potions exam, an act that rocketed my heart into my mouth. It was excruciating to sit still at my desk, the exam I'd finished in the first hour captured under my arm so Snape couldn't take it and so my hands wouldn't sweat on it. Every few minutes, I'd rifle through th pages or act like I was adding some content to the last–page essay. My cheeks burned. I didn't dare look up, but I felt the eyes on me: Snape with his eyebrows raised over the third years' exams he was grading; my classmates staring, wondering what could possibly be wrong, if I were about to fail. Every minute of the last half hour felt like a separate eternity. I was waiting on Ron and Neville.

Come on, you two, I silently urged them. Several times I almost gave in and left the Potions classroom. I could look for Snape some other time. Then Neville got up. It was just Ron and me. I strayed into thoughts of Snape's and my kiss, the taste of his lips and tongue...

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, that is all our time for the exam," Snape said.

With a defeated sigh, Ron got up and stretched his arm, which was black in ink up to the elbow.

"I'll take it up for you, Ron." My friend gave me an utterly baffled look as only he could. Mingled affection and exasperation welled up in me.

"Oh. Thanks, Hermione. Are you going to eat with Harry and me? It might be our last chance. He leaves for London tomorrow, early."

"I'll have to see," I started to say before Snape cut in.

"That will do, Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger, if you have something to ask me, please do it now and quickly. I have a lot to do –" he nodded at the piles of exam papers cluttering his desk, "and not nearly enough time."

Ron was gone.

"I've been thinking about the last time," I said. Without my intending to, my voice dropped to a lower, more sultry tone. It was a little forward perhaps, but as Snape had pointed out, time was short. "I can't stop thinking about it, in fact." I wanted to touch Snape's arm, but neither his face nor eyes showed any sign of recognition. Lowering my hand, I said, "I'm so glad I got to see you again."

"Miss Granger, what are you prattling about?" Snape's eyes were impassive – like black stones. My professor uncrossed one of his folded arms and held out his hand. "Your exam, please. Unless you want me to fail you and Mr. Weasley."

"No, sir." I handed the papers over, stunned. What was going on? "We kissed," I burst out. What was wrong? The other night, he'd been so warm and open to me. Today it was as though a 3-inch wall of ice had formed between us.

Snape's eyebrows came together in disapproval. He puckered his lips as though he had bitten into a handful of bitter rue. "If you insist on lying, I will have to get Madame Pomfrey involved. Or perhaps Dumbledore."

Lying... My shock started to give way to understanding...and to pain. "I can't believe this," I whispered. He was pretending nothing had happened. How could he? And after he'd brought my feelings into light the night of our kiss. He had taken advantage of me!

I stumbled back, unable to tear my stricken gaze from him. Even as I reeled from the pain Snape had caused me, I wanted to seek my solace in his arms. I brushed a hand across my face before backing away. I almost broke into a run, but I had to cling to what shreds of dignity I could.

"Hermione."

I jumped. Ron and Harry had waited outside the door for me.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked. "We couldn't hear what was going on..."

"You finished your test after me," Ron said, his eyes wide.

Harry elbowed the larger boy. "I know it's not because you did poorly, Hermione," Harry said. "You helped us a few nights ago. You really knew what you were talking about, and most of it was on the test! So what if it took you a while? Everyone has a lot on their minds."

I blinked back tears. "Thanks, you two. I'll be alright. Let's eat, shall we?" I wasn't sure when I'd be able to face food again. It distracted Harry and Ron, though. Both broke into smiles.

Dinner that night was a sad collection of leftovers the Great Hall called casserole. It was a good thing most of the Hogwarts students had left. Not even a quarter of the chairs had occupants, and most of these were faculty.

The casserole's wan state didn't stop Ron and Harry from shoveling it into their mouths. I had to smile at their enthusiasm as I picked through white-frosted carrots and shriveled potato pieces.

"Do you have any plans for summer, Hermione?" Harry asked as he buttered a stale roll. "I'm looking into getting a job or two, anything to get away from the Dursleys."

"My parents and I made plans to go to the seaside," I said flatly. Before all the Snape and war drama, I'd been more excited about the chance to relax on holiday and catch up with my family. I had been too busy with my studies this term for much socializing. I'd have to be careful that I didn't ruin it by brooding. Maybe a change of scenary would help me forget Snape faster. "I wanted to invite you and Ron, too."

Harry grinned. "I wouldn't miss it! What about you, Ron?"

Ron was squinting at the windows on the far side of the hall where the mail owls entered. "Something's coming," he said.

Sure enough, black and brown specks were flapping in the rafters. As they came closer, I saw that they were owls, over fifty of them. Each bore what looked like a newspaper. Puzzled, I watched with Harry and Ron as one of the owls let the paper fall. Harry caught it before it landed on Ron's head.

"The Daily Prophet," Harry read, unfolding the newspaper.

"War Official Between Dark Lord and Ministry of Magic," screamed the front page headline in immense capital calligraphy.

Dread squeezed my insides, even as my mind resisted the meaning of the words. I sat down hard. Ron's freckles stood out against his pale face. Harry, calm as always in a crisis, read the article out loud.

_An attack by Voldemort's army on several Ministry buildings in London has led the Ministry to declare open war over a year earlier than anticipated._

"_We cannot permit Voldemort or any wizard to compromise wizarding security," Cornelius Fudge stated in his official press conference. "Leaving the problem unaddressed now will lead to insurmountable difficulties in the future."_

"Well, that's a first," Ron muttered. "The Ministry's actually doing something decisive."

"There's more," Harry said.

_The Ministry of Magic is summoning all able-bodied wizards and witches between the ages of 18 and 35 to serve in the Ministry's army. Eligible persons may report to their country's ministry._

_Explaining the scope of the war, Cornelius Fudge stated, "This war will be fought on multiple fronts. The matter of Lord Voldemort and his followers is one that the Ministry has neglected far too long. We must halt his plans, or the wizarding world will be changed forever!"_

_When questioned on his predictions for success against Voldemort and the duration of the war, Fudge offered the vague comment, "The time has come to make a stand. We will be victorious, no matter how long it takes."_

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "What do you say, Harry? Are you going to sign up?"

Harry nodded slowly, gravely. "First thing tomorrow."

"How can you do that?" I said. "Neither of you are 18 yet."

The boys just looked at me, the same expression they'd gotten during our school years when they were about to start some mischief...or an adventure. Nostalgia flooded me, and I had to bite my lip to keep it from shaking.

We can go by Floo powder," Ron was saying. His cheeks were ruddy again from excitment.

"The network might be down," Harry said. "If it is, we can fly on our brooms." His voice wavered a little.

My heart brimmed with love for my friends, so keen and full it was painful. How I admired their bravery.

I wished I could join Harry and Ron, and look after them. I doubted the Ministry would turn them down. Both could pass for 18 and then some.

But their rule-bending ways just weren't for me. We were all coming of age and had to make our own decisions. But surely there was something I could do. I would study, I vowed. I would find a way to be the best witch in the army. I had my parents to protect, as well as my dear friends.

"So how will the war work, exactly?" Harry asked. I had been wondering the same thing. We both turned to Ron.

"It's a little like wizard chess," Ron said, "army versus army."  
"How will the Muggles be affected?" I said.

"They shouldn't be," Ron said slowly, looking confused.

"I never really understood where Hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world is in relation to the Muggles," Harry said.

"The wizard's realm is split apart from the Muggles', mostly." Ron tapped his fork against the table, searching for a way to explain. "So if wizards go to battle in most locations in wizard lands, the Muggles won't get caught in it or even perceive it."

"But you did say 'mostly,'" I pressed.

"There are places were magic can creep through," Ron said. "The most famous one is probably the Bermuda triangle. Muggle technology malfunctions there. No one would fight there because it's out in the ocean, but if they did, a Muggle plane might go down, depending on what spells were cast. Stonehenge is another."  
"Wow," I murmured. "I wonder if the pyramids and Macchu Picchu are, too."

"Could be," Ron said.

"It's like a Venn diagram," I mused. "Two areas that are separate and one that overlaps.

"Yeah, that's one way to think of it," Ron agreed. "It's different from, say, Diagon Alley. That's just a magic places that can be accessed from Muggle London."

"I wonder what will happen to Hogwarts," I said.

"Who knows?" Ron said. "Hermione, are you going to eat that?"

I glanced down at my forgotten bowl of casserole. "Are you sure? It's gotten cold." And that wasn't all. My spoon was standing straight up in it.

Ron shrugged.

I chuckled to myself. Being able to eat anything would serve Ron well as a soldier. A jolt ran through me as I remembered that in all likelihood, he'd be one, and soon. He'll be okay, I tried to reassure myself. With all his knowledge of strategy, Ron would probably rise in the ranks. Maybe he'd be a general before it was all over.

We walked slowly through the halls, remembering the last six years, stopping once in a while to reminisce. Classes, Quidditch matches, first romances, sneaking out, fighting, then making up – it all seemed so idyllic, even with the yearly mystery that brought Voldemort closer to power.

At the portrait of the Fat Lady, we paused, too lost in our own thoughts to give the password. I just couldn't shake the sense that these were the last days I would see her.

"How about some Butterbeer?" Ron said back in the common room. "I have some stashed from my last trip to Hogsmeade."

"How did you manage that?" I asked wryly.

Ron winked at me. "The bartender at the Three Broomsticks and I have some good conversations. I persuaded her to sell me a small-size cask."

At that, Harry started laughing so hard he staggered into one of the red wing chairs. He grabbed the back of the chair for support with one hand and held his side with the other.

"What? What?" Ron shouted, waving his arms around.

"That bartender must be a hundred years old! I always knew you'd go for an older woman!" Harry wiped tears from around his steaming glasses.

"_Not_ that one!" Ron's face went red.

"Do you want some Butterbeer, dearie?" Harry croaked in an old crone voice.

"Watch it, Potter!" Ron stalked up to Harry and shoved him. "Or I'll bust your lip, and Hermione and I will drink all the Butterbeer."

I was diverted from my friends' scuffle by an arm and a leg appearing through the painting entranceway.

"Hello Neville," I said. Out of the corner of my eye, Harry and Ron crashed to the floor just as though they were seven again.

"Hullo Hermione. Did you hear about the war?"

"We all did. These two are signing up tomorrow, provided they don't damage each other first."

Neville smiled faintly. "I can't believe it's happening, after all these years."

"I know what you mean," I said in a small voice. Harry and Ron, perhaps sensing the change in the air, left off their wrestling and got to their feet. "It's going to change everything."

"Ok, ok," Ron broke in. "Don't get too serious yet! I'm getting the Butterbeer now!"

Whomever Ron had acquired the Butterbeer from had given him a slightly stronger stock than I was used to. It was a good, comforting draft made better by the company of my friends. We talked until late in the night, watching the fire fade. Occasionally our friends would stop by and join in reminiscing. Neville retold the story of our sneaking out to save the Philsopher's Stone at least three times. "Hermione froze me with _Petrificus Totalis_!" The years hadn't banished the awe from his voice. "I thought they had gone mad, but then Dumbledore explained everything the next day: they were heroes!"

I wished stopping the war were as simple as sneaking out.

"It's something I've always admired about you three," Neville went on to say. "Even when you had your fights, you were always close."

We all got a little misty-eyed after that.

At some point in the conversation, Neville stretched out full-length across the rug in front of the fireplace, where he eventually nodded off. As he lay snoring, I thought affectionately of a large dog. How many times had I told him the Fat Lady's password?

Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had veered into a ridiculous ramble about "what they'd do to the Dark Lord" if they ever came up against him in battle.

"So Harry, you'd lead your troops in on your broom and do that fireball rain to distract him. Then I'd come in from behind with my company and..." Ron heaved a yawn so immense his jaws cracked.

"I think we'd best follow his example." Harry nodded toward Neville. "It's going to be a long day at the Ministry tomorrow, and we still have to pack."

Typical boys.

"Come stay at the Burrow after?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"What about you, Hermione?" Ron struggled out of his chair.

"It won't be for a few days yet. I still need to do the Ancient Healing Arts final."

"Oi. Two Snape classes in one term." Ron surrendered to another head-splitter of a yawn. "Don't know why anyone'd put up with that."

I just smiled, knowing he wouldn't see it in the shadows.

We three said our goodnights, then turned in opposite directions to our dorms.

Back in the familiar shadows of my room, I cast a spell that formed several small globes of light that hovered around my dresser mirror. As I reached for my hairbrush, my fingers brushed a small roll of parchment.

"What's this?" I murmured.

The message, penned in a steady, precise hand, read:

The coming war has forced me to see what's really important. Please come talk to me. There are things I want to say to you.

If you accept my invitation, burn this note in your fireplace, and I will come for you.

SS

For a moment, I stared at SS without comprehending. (It **was** late.) Then the insight came to me in a flash. The letters could only stand for Severus Snape. Breathless, I read over the note again. Here was my chance! There was no question about it. I had to see him again before the term ended!

Kneeling before my fireplace, I murmured a spell that sent a small shower of blue sparks cascading from my fingertips. Because they were mage fire, they caught at once, forming a single flame the size of my hand. I rather regretted burning the parchment. It was the only personal correspondance I had from my professor. However, there was no other way for him to know I had read it, at least that I could discern.

I used the tongs to put the note in the fire. Tiny blue tongues licked the edges of the page, blackened it. A thin line of smoke rose and dissipated while I waited. Nothing happened. I wished Snape had been more specific. Maybe I had to meet him in the common room since girls could get into the boys' dorm but not the other way around. Could professors enter our sleeping quarters at this hour? I wondered. I was nearly out the door when -

"Miss Granger."

Unmistakably, it was Snape's voice. But where was it coming from?

I looked all around my bedroom. The shadows remained undisturbed.

"In the fireplace," Snape directed me.

Sure enough, a ghostly image of my professor had appeared among the sooty bricks and remnants of logs.

"Take my hand." As he reached out to me, his hand took on a solidity that the rest of his body lacked. It was disconcerting to say the least. I took his hand in both of mine, relieved to find that it was flesh and blood, albeit a cool temperature.

Snape tugged me toward him with such strength that I lost my footing. With a swooping thrill in my stomach, I fully expected to land against his chest. On the other side, I simply stumbled to a stop while he watched with folded arms. He must have side-stepped at the last minute, I decided with some regret.

I didn't waste much time on the emotion. The chamber he had pulled me into was exquisitely beautiful. Miniscule flames frozen in teardop shapes hovered in each corner. Their spectral blue-silver filled the area with the light of late moonlight.

A bookcase rested against every wall, all save two bursting with books. These others held glassware and strange, delicate instruments of various metals. At the center of the room were a desk and table set up with several chairs, all of ornate, otherworldly design. A soft, thick rug shielded my bare feet from the icy flagstones.

"Where are we?" I asked when I felt I had gawked long enough.

Snape, still buttoned up in his usual black, gave me his typical impassive professor look. "Where do you think we are?"

Clearly some secret magical room in Hogwarts was not the answer. "I don't know. Where?" He wasn't budging, though, and didn't reply.

As I searched his face for the answer, I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. His lips turned up into what was almost a smile, but only for an instant. "This, Miss Granger, is my room."

"Your...room. Like where you sleep?" I winced at how young the question sounded. Of course he slept. He ate and bathed, too. But the idea of my professor having such basic needs was still a bizarre concept to me, despite another basic need of his I had recently come aware of...

Then I finally noticed the bed, framed with rich tapestry curtains. It was surprisingly large for one I supposed slept alone. A blush swept through my cheeks.

"Yes, sleeping is something I do here," Snape said. "I also hide from the idiots who comprise the Hogwarts student body and faculty. I come here to study, to read, to rejuvenate myself."

"I never knew you could travel Hogwarts through the fireplaces. Is the system like the Floo Network?" I knew I was babbling, getting us away from the point of my visit: what had Snape brought me here to tell me? Being here alone with him again had made me nervous, and I just couldn't stop.

"We take great pains to keep our little network secret so even your little friends Weasley and Potter, who have done more sneaking than most students in Hogwarts history, would never know."

I sank down into one of Snape's chairs with a sigh. "They're signing up with the Ministry tomorrow."

"A senseless waste of young lives." Had I only imagined the slight quaver in Snape's voice? "The Ministry is all but incompetent in times of peace. What makes Fudge think that war is going to be any diferent?" For the first time, I noticed the goblet in Snape's hand. "Would you care for some wine?"

I took the glass he offered me without drinking, turning the smooth pewter around and around in my hands. I stayed quiet, sensing that Snape was finding his courage to broach whatever subject he had wanted me here to discuss.

"I want to apologize for what happened the other night," he said at last. "I won't lie to you. I admit that I enjoyed it. But you are so very young."

"Don't apologize," I burst out. "I've wanted it too! The entire term."

"How can you know what you're saying?" Snape murmured into his wine.

"I know!" I jumped off the chair, furious that he didn't see me as an equal. "The age of consent is 16, you know!" I raged almost right in his face.

"Don't tell me this!" Snape flinched. "I still want you, you know. You are one of the rare individuals who has ever challenged me."

"What are you afraid of?" I demanded.

Snape had no answer.

"You said you wanted to talk because war showed you what was really important. I don't hear anything new. You may as well have just stayed silent."

"I admitted my attraction to you. That's more than I ever would have done if these were ordinary times. War has a way of changing right and wrong."

"I think it would be wrong of us not to embrace this moment," I said. "Think of how many things conspired to bring us together."

"You're breaking me down, Miss Granger. Is this really what you want?" Snape raised his hand as though he would touch my face. At the last second, he clenched his fist and let it drop to his side.

"I do want it. But not..." I drew a great, gulping gasp, "if you're going to pretend nothing happened after!" Suddenly I was bawling, the effects of the wine, the butterbeer, the late hour, and of course, the war.

My tears decided him. Snape took me in his arms, stroking my hair with delicate movements. I thought of all the times I had seen him measuring out herbs, powders, and liquids, the vials he'd handled with his exquisite, deft hands. "Stay with me...for what remains of tonight," he whispered. "No pretending. I promise you that." At last the cynicism had fled his face. He was open and as vulnerable as I was.

I allowed him to lead me to his bed. He freed his hands from me just long enough to move the curtains aside. Then, together, we sank into the deeper darkness that was the only witness to our shared secret.


	3. Chapter 3

Unexpected Reunions

A/N: I decided on non-metric units...since I'm using American spelling and punctuation already.

Unit conversions:

60 deg Fahrenheit = 16 deg Celsius

6 feet = 1.83 meters (do people in metric countries actually describe their height this way?)

I may have taken some liberties with the Coronation Parade structure...still not entirely sure if Coronation Parade refers to the arches below or the walkway above. Can't wait til I see England in person...one day. Sorry for the long delay. I've been having problems at work. Hope I can get them straight so I can update more frequently.

{****}

You wouldn't know it was summer in Kent. Most days, the salty air reached a brisk high of 60 degrees. The waves rolled in sheets of icy, gray water that mirrored the sky. A few holiday-makers reclined in beach chairs trying to glimpse the sun or imagine warmth on their pale, frequently goosebump-spotted legs.

I dug my feet farther into the sand and smoothed out the latest letters from Harry and Ron. They had really done it. War had erupted between the Ministry and Voldemort's growing army, and my friends had answered the Ministry's call to serve. Never mind that they were still a year shy of the recruiting age.

Their letters came by falcons, which I supposed were faster than owls, and never the same one. It had become my tradition, indeed, my superstition, to keep all their letters in my coat pocket though the stack was growing quite large, and to reread the most important ones in chronological order.

Dear Hermione,

Harry and I are now soldiers in the Ministry's Army! The old recruiter taking applications didn't look twice at us! I guess he understood that a year or two isn't important when there's a good cause to battle for. Based on his many ribbons and medals, he fought long and hard for something in his youth- I never did ask what. Maybe Harry and I will be that decorated one day. (Reading over my shoulder, Harry just remarked that I'd look like a Yule parcel.) Anyway, don't take offense if our letters are short or infrequent. Sometimes time is short, or we are limited in what we can say.

Initial training will be held in -. We depart tomorrow. The old recruiter gave us the option of delaying for three days to say goodbye to our families, but we opted not to, seeing as the war is already in full swing. Tonight Harry and I will eat at the Burrow. Wish you could be there, but I know you've gotta finish your finals. We'll come visit if we get some leave.

-Ron

{**}

Hullo Hermione,

They've expedited our initial training to send us to the front line faster. Voldemort's army attacked - and -, both strategic points in the UK region. I know it is important to stop him, but I worry about sending green wizards (both me and Ron, despite his bravado) into the fight. Training so far has been entirely physical.

To my great disappointment, wizard warfare is very primitive compared to Muggles'. I suppose it says something about both cultures that the latter has more sophisticated methods for killing one another. Nevertheless, waging war with swords and catapults seems backwards, even if they are infused with magic. (The casters are chiefly women and older men who never advanced and can't keep up with the physical demands of war.) I wonder what will happen if Voldemort allies with humans and gets guns or tanks... Wand to wand combat is all but unheard of. I guess you could liken a wand to a dagger or other last defense.

Sometimes I worry about disappointing the men who have become my brothers-in-arms. I'm the "boy who lived," but was all that just a fluke? It feels like it when I'm gasping to keep up with Ron and the others. They say that rising in the ranks, a soldier will find his proper place. I hope I can reach that point. I hope there is one for me.

Yours,

Harry

{**}

Hermione,

Initial training has ended after a blur of wand-whipped tests and practical evaluations. A long march brought us to - today. (Easier means such as Floo Powder were deemed too risky. Apparently Voldemort has us beat in Wizarding Intelligence.) We have come to a sparse land of browns and grays, broken only by the occasional patch of wildflowers. Our camp is in the shadow of snow-capped mountains. Harry and I, against all odds, have managed to stay together. In a matter of days, we shall see combat for the first time.

I wish I could contribute to our company's strategy. It is very frustrating to have orders handed down from on high without knowing who gave them, what their qualifications are, being unable to ask why they chose as they did. For now, I'm a foot soldier. I'm going to work hard and learn all I can. One thing's for sure: if I ever become a leader of troops, I won't give commands from the shadows.

Ronald Weasley, Wizarding Forces soldier

(Ron)

{**}

Hermione,

I'm so tired I can barely scratch my quill across this parchment. Combat is like the longest, most grueling Quidditch practice I ever experienced. Only...no one knows when it is going to end. Victory can be soured in a minute as fresh enemy troops appear over the opposite rise, and then I am back to swinging my sword until my arm feels like it's going to fall off.

Ron and I had this photo taken at the start of initial training after we were issued our uniforms. It felt unreal wearing it, like we were dressing up for a costume party. Now it feels all too familiar... I hope you enjoy seeing us. Your letters and photos are always appreciated. They remind Ron and me of what we are fighting for.

Yours,

Harry

The photo of Harry and Ron in uniform was enchanted to move, like many around Hogwarts. Their uniforms were sharper than our school uniforms: coats of navy blue wool, gray breeches, knee-high black boots. I felt grateful they kept their black three-cornered hats in their hands so I could see their faces.

My friends' smiles were eager, carefree as they punched at one another, Ron finally throwing his arm over Harry's shoulder and grinning at the camera. I wondered if combat had changed them and how deep the transformation had gone.

It was easier to worry about Harry and Ron and the war than think about those last days at Hogwarts, of the man I might never see again. We had come together a few other precious nights after that first. After the Ancient Healing Arts final, during which it took all my concentration to act like a student around him and not his lover, our passion reached new heights of longing...and pleasure. But for all that, we never spoke of what would happen after.

I stayed in his arms until morning, a golden mockery. Even then he slept on. The thick drapes with which my professor shut out the external world only permitted a golden finger to beckon across the room, but it was enough. I had always been at the mercy of the sun when waking up. (Had he drawn the curtains around his bed, my story of awakening might have been different. However, the ending would still be the same: sad and uncertain.)

Waiting... I didn't want to feel that I was. Still, summer was nearly spent, with no word. It saddened me.

"Are you worrying again?" Mum peered at me from under her wide-brimmed straw hat, unnecessary for the cloudy day. I guess she was being hopeful, the way I was with my rolled-up jeans. To say nothing of the little jump my heart gave whenever I sighted large birds nearing. It was important to hear from Harry and Ron, to know that they were still alive. Nonetheless, I knew my heart's hope for a letter that had not come all summer and might never come.

"I know what to do," Mum said. "Let's go for a walk!"

I had to smile. Walking was her cure for all ills. I found that walking alone made me melancholy, but with Mum chattering brightly, it couldn't be too bad. Maybe the stroll would warm me up and I would enjoy the beach more.

We headed for the Coronation Parade arches that were the boundary between the sandy side of the beach and the slate beach. The sound of the sea and Mum's voice faded into a comforting hum. I dragged my feet through the cold, damp sand, darted with Mum away from incoming waves. A band of gulls descended on an unattended bag of crisps. Their leader ripped right through the package and sent crisps exploding across the sand. Mum laughed as she videoed the whole thing on her phone.

In more carefree years, I might have laughed. Now I managed a mostly-genuine smile.

The closer we got to the slate beach, the more pebbles and shells we came across. I stopped to examine a cone shell in tan and white. As I did, a peculiar feeling came over me, as though I were being watched. I looked around. Mum had a fan shell to her ear. A few beach-goers were huddled in chairs or on top of towels, but no one noteworthy. Then I located the source of the look.

He was a man of about 6 feet or so, dressed all in black from his coat with the collar that covered the bottom of his chin, his pants, shoes, even his shoulder-length hair. Long strands streamed into his face but could not hide his eyes, burning as they sought me, darkness and yet alight with some luster from within.

As our gaze met across that stretch of bleak beach, unseen energy filled the air between us.

Snape! My heart sped up as though I had been running.

"Hermione Granger."

I'd never heard him say my name before, not even the nights I had been as close to him as one can get to another human being. It sounded exquisite, a foreign rarity.

"Err, why, hello. It's been so long." Well, this was awkward. It just seemed weird to call Snape professor outside of Hogwarts. Add to that, I wanted to throw myself into his arms. His face, of course, betrayed no sign of his intentions. Snape held out his hand to me, used the other to push his hair out of his face. The sight of his familiar profile did nothing to stop my heart from racing. His fingers closed around mine, cool and smooth. They had been warm those nights... All summer I had wanted him. Over the months, my desire had dimmed to a dull ache. Now it tore at me.

Mum was staring from me back to my professor, and I couldn't blame her! What must this look like? Outdoors, Snape's skin was the striking pale shade of one who rarely let the sun touch it. He looked younger than I remembered, but still much too old to be socializing with a student my age. Suppose Mum figured out what had happened in that uncanny way mothers do? What on earth was Snape doing here?

"How rude of me." Snape turned to Mum and gave her his hand. "My name is Severus Snape. Hermione and I met at a Witches and Wizards conference. She promised to have dinner with me."

"I see!" Mum said. She still looked confused. Before she could start asking questions, her phone chirped. "Hello dear," she said. "Yes, we'll head back. See you in a few minutes. That was your father," she clarified. "He's at our beach chairs."

I swallowed. Back at our cabin, Dad had been on a video conference call with his dental office in London. Now it looked like Snape was going to meet both of them. Nonetheless, my professor seemed untroubled. What on earth was he up to? In addition to my initial elation at seeing him, questions were starting to form in my mind. Did he have news about the war? What was happening in the magic realm?

I let Mum do the talking, chiefly questions about wizarding and how Snape's summer had been. Meanwhile I tried to divine anything from Snape's answers and body language. Nothing. Stones were more expressive than Snape in his current state.

Dad, it seemed, had been in a rush to get down to the beach. He still wore his suit jacket and trousers. At least he'd loosened his tie and thrown on some sneakers. I couldn't blame him for hurrying. Half of his days on holiday, he'd had to deal with work-related things. He blamed that on the new director of his office: an American. It was too bad today wasn't prettier now that he'd finally gotten away.

"Is something wrong, Mary-Anne?" Dad asked. He gave Snape a wary look.

Mum shook her head. "He's Hermione's colleague. We met while we were walking."

To my relief, it sounded more convincing when she said it.

Dad still seemed wary of Snape, despite shaking hands and exchanging stiffly polite pleasantries. He looked pretty unhappy when Snape brought up the fact that we were going to dinner. Before he could say anything, Mum cut in with a "Don't stay out too late," She gave Dad a meaningful look and placed her hand over his. "How long is it since we've enjoyed the sea together, dear?"

Snape and I stayed for a few more minutes of stilted conversation before drifting away up the stone stairs.

In the picturesque little streets of Folkestone, away from the sight of my parents, I could drink in the sight of him to my heart's content, and stare I did. Despite his entirely black clothes, Snape seemed less imposing than he had at Hogwarts. I couldn't decide if it was the absence of his usual frock or just seeing him in the outside world.

"What brings you here?" I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral. Though calm outwardly, I was in turmoil inside. What did Snape's summer-long silence mean? Had he come all this way only to tell me that we could not continue as we had? Suppose he were here to say goodbye?

Snape came closer. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around me, rested his chin against the top of my head. We stayed like that for several minutes before he drew me in to a kiss that made my senses sing. At its end, I continued to search his face for the answers to my questions.

"What is it?" he asked in a gentle tone I had never heard him use at Hogwarts.

"I still feel guilty about leaving Mum and Dad," I said. It was sort of true, but not the real thing that was troubling me.

"They might want to spend some time alone together, too," Snape pointed out softly.

I resisted the idea for a minute, then blushed.

"I know there's still something on your mind," Snape said.

It had been difficult to ask the first time. Somehow I dragged the question out of myself again. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, Professor, but why are you here?"

Snape's chuckle was low, meant for me alone. "Don't you know, Hermione? I'm here...for you."

It had been dark the nights we were intimate in Snape's lovely room in Hogwarts. The afternoon light in the cottage Snape had rented, despite its lackluster gray, was a strange contrast. In the reprieves between frantic, gasping kisses and the various acts that brought on my suppressed moans, I enjoyed the sight of Snape's body. Though his frame was slender for a man, his back was still broad and muscular compared to mine. His pale, smooth skin held endless delight for me. It reminded me of marble in the moonlight. I wondered what hue it would take on after a season in the sun. (I doubted I'd ever find out.)

When my professor was spent from pleasure, he threw his arm over me and slept. As he did, I discovered the tattoo on his arm. I thought the design seemed familiar – a skull with a snake winding through the mouth and eye sockets, still with spare body length to wrap around the base- but the afternoon's delights had put me in a stupor. I drifted away, tracing its coils.

"It looks like an elephant slept in this bed," I remarked when we managed to disentangle ourselves from one another and the sheets.

"I will straighten it before the housekeepers come tomorrow," Snape said, so stiffly I could not resist leaning up on tiptoe and kissing his cheek.

Snape shuddered as my breast brushed his upper arm. "You'd best put on your clothes, Miss Granger." He drew in a none-too steady breath. "Or I may just keep you here all evening."

Raw hunger turned his voice lower, deeper. I pressed my body against his, unable to resist the prospect of his touch. At the same time, my stomach gave a protesting gurgle.

"Your clothes, Miss Granger." Snape smirked. He had won this one.

I didn't realize how long it had been since breakfast until Snape and I exited to the street. It seemed like the salty breeze was wafting the scent of every fried food the fairgrounds had to offer our way. It all smelled so good!

I knew I would just die if we attempted a sit-down restaurant. There would be a wait in the foyer, a long stretch between drinks and the food actually getting to us...

"There!" I pulled Snape after me to a fish and chips stand.

"You must be joking." Snape's murmur in my ear was a mocking purr. "Is this really what you want to eat?"

"Yes!" I could almost taste the hot, crispy batter, the flaky fish melting in my mouth, salty golden chips.

{***}

"Well, that was a classy dinner," Snape remarked. With greasy wrappings in hand, we'd strolled through the cobblestone streets. Now we overlooked the sandy side of the beach.

I wondered if Snape had ever eaten with his fingers before. "What a view!"

On the distant horizon, a hint of sunset peeked through the gray.

I rested my elbows on the seawall and leaned my chin in my hands. My cheeks were warm and flushed from the glorious fried food. When I straightened, Snape was at my back. His arms circled my shoulders, resting just above my breasts. "Would you be interested in dessert, Miss Granger?"

Dessert turned out to be exactly the innuendo I was hoping it would. We went slower this time, savoring one another.

Night had fallen by the time we remembered the outside world. Reluctantly, I began to put myself back together with a quick shower, brushing my hair, and reapplying my makeup. I was certain my parents knew, but I felt discretion would be considerate if nothing else. Snape ironed my jeans, which had become quite wrinkled during their time on his floor, then his own shirt and slacks.

"Time to walk back," I said with a heavy sigh. "Remember, this was just dinner and conversation."

Snape nodded, his tender expression disappearing beneath the expressionless, professorial mask I knew so well. I doubted my face hid my many emotions as effectively. I could only hope

My parents did not emerge to greet us, though the lights in the cabin were on. On the porch, Snape left me with a chaste, if warm kiss on the cheek.

{****}

It was to be my week for unexpected reunions. The next evening, my parents and I were getting ready for dinner. We were doing what we could to spruce up because, although this was a holiday at the beach, Snape's appearance the day before inspired my mum to invite him to dinner.

"Your father's not used to the idea of you as a woman," she explained as we roamed the fairgrounds near the beach. "It would go a long way to putting your his mind at ease if he met your friend personally and saw that he treats you well."

I'd contacted Snape by owl rather than telephone. The exchange went like this:

Me – Mum and Dad want to get to know you better. Join us for dinner at 8 o'clock tomorrow evening?

He – Certainly.

At least I wasn't suffering the usual nonsense this sort of thing entailed, questions like "Is it too soon to meet the parents?" and worse yet, "Did I contact him too soon after?"

And Snape seemed willing enough, which pleased me. Yet even with the more common roadblocks smoothed over, this kind of meeting wasn't known for being easy. Six o'clock found my parents and me tense over things like whose turn it was to use our cabin's single bathroom. The three of us nearly jumped out of our skin when the front bell rang at a mere six thirty.

"That can't be him," Dad said, appearing from around the hallway corner with his razor in hand and lathered cheeks. "It's still so early."

I stopped and stared at the clock. Snape was always punctual to class, but this was a little ridiculous.

"Perhaps you could go distract him, Hermione?" Mum was looking back and forth at her floral-print dresses - one in each hand.

"But I'm not ready yet," I protested.

"Then tell him to come back later, maybe in an hour." Mum disappeared into the bedroom. And that was that. I sighed and opened the front door.

"Hermione!" Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, both clad in their Wizarding Forces uniforms, greeted me with radiant smiles and open arms.

"Harry! Ron!" I burst out, so surprised I forgot all about Snape and dinner. "What are you doing here?" I asked after a long, warm hug.

"For valor and ingenuity in combat," Ron declared with a grand sweep of his hand.

"We were awarded five days of paid leave!" Harry finished the announcement.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what happened?"

The boys shook their heads. I hadn't thought their grins could get any bigger. "We thought we could tell you over dinner," Ron said. "Seeing as we're on the Ministry's payroll."

"Meager payroll," Harry amended. "But the money grows when you never have any free time to spend it. And the forces feed and house you. What more could a wizard need?"

"Dinner would be lovely," I said. "But tonight, I'm already eating with my parents."

You'd think I had outlawed Quidditch, the way their faces fell. It was touching, how much they had missed me. "How about tomorrow?" I hurried to suggest. It pained me to sacrifice time with Snape, even for my oldest, dearest friends. But this would guarantee they wouldn't run into each other. Who knew what they'd do under the shock of seeing us together, possibly in a romantic context?

My friends agreed. We would have remained talking, but, to my guilty relief, Mum called for me to help her choose between dresses. I hoped Harry and Ron hadn't discerned how eager I was to for them to leave. I hoped they didn't show up tomorrow in the middle of the day wanting to do something. I already hoped to spend that time with Snape.

Mum took my suggestion of wearing her navy blue dress with the white flowers. For myself, I chose a scoop-necked blouse, violet rose in hue, with charcoal gray skinny jeans and a matching sweater. I went the extra mile by putting on some makeup and coaxing my hair into a French braid. (It was even more unruly than usual in the salty air.) As I was dabbing on the perfume I'd bought on a whim, Mum came by, stopped and sighed. I turned around to find her misty-eyed and smiling at the same time.

"Mum," I murmured.

"He is rather older than you, dear," Mum said. "But he's obviously devoted, to have sent you all those letters."

I swallowed. She had made the mistaken connection herself. I hadn't wanted to spoil the holiday with talk of war. I was also avoiding a fight. If Mum and Dad knew, they'd want me to stay safe in the Muggle realm. Without running off to the Ministry like Harry and Ron, it was still one year before I could make my own decisions in that regard. What could it hurt to let Mum continue thinking the letters were from Snape?

I wrapped my arms around her slender frame and rested my chin on top of her head. It seemed a long time ago that she had been taller than me.

{****}

We met Snape at Boulud by the Sea, a new restaurant that served gourmet burgers and seafood. The conversation took some time to get flowing, even with a drink for everyone. Snape was far from outgoing and friendly, and of course, he had to be careful not to reveal too much or tell lies that would be uncovered or given away later. I did what I could to keep the conversation going and direct it away from personal questions about Snape. In particular, we kept his profession as vague as possible, hinting only that he was a researcher in obscure wizarding matters. Dad had quite a long run of complaining about how he was supposed to be on holiday, if not for the "damned American" running his office. "I'm sorry to talk so much about that," Dad said when he'd gone on for around fifteen minutes. Still, he seemed to feel better. I could understand why. Snape was a very good listener. "So where do you see yourself in the next five years?" Dad asked.

"I don't know if you were aware of this." Snape's tone, quiet yet compelling, caused both of my parents to freeze with hunks of crusty bread halfway to their mouths. "Our realm is at war." Snape proceeded to explain how it had started, with an eloquence that made my mouth go dry with desire. That feeling dissipated quickly, however, when I saw the dismay on my parents' faces.

Suddenly they saw that wizard society was not some ideal place immune from human suffering and frailty. Our world was a dangerous one, too. In their eyes, stricken and startled, I read the same questions: how would this war impact me?

Before the barrage could begin, a deep voice sang out, "Hermione! Fancy meeting you here!"

I felt grateful for the interruption...for the first instant. It was Ron, still clad in his uniform. Though a little old-fashioned, it looked posh enough for this restaurant. "Oi, Harry! Look who I found!" Ron waved his pint. I cringed. Couldn't they have chosen a different place to get raucous? Harry seemed to feel the same way as he approached with a glass of wine. "Hullo Hermione. Mr. and Mrs. Granger. And..." Merlin's beard! There was no way to hide him. The second it took for Harry to breathe, squint at Snape to make sure he wasn't mistaken was an agonized eternity.

"Snape?" Ron belted out.

In all my time at Hogwarts, I had never been so grateful for Ron's disregard for Snape's title when he was feeling belligerent.

"Y...yes, he's here, too," I stammered, hoping no one noticed I was stating the obvious. "Isn't this a coincidence? How did you choose Boulud by the Sea?"

"We wanted to eat at the finest restaurant in Folkestone," Harry said.

"Their bar is a big deal in London," Ron said with explosive, tipsy enthusiasm. "I like it here. It's fancy without being stuffy."

So it was pure coincidence that they'd happened on us. I tried to relax, even as I felt my shoulders creeping toward my ears.

"This is quite the surprise, seeing you two here," Snape all but growled. He compressed his lips; I wondered if it was supposed to be a smile. "Suppose we go to the bar and I buy you two a drink? I'd like to speak with you while you're in town."

"This must be my lucky week!" Ron tipped the remaining contents of his mug into his mouth. "First I get five days' leave, and now my old professor is buying me a drink!"

Though my heart shot into my mouth, my parents didn't ask about the _professor_ comment. Ron's wild behavior must've been its own distraction. Thank goodness for that.

"So Hermione, do you know if Hogwarts will stay open this term?" Mum asked.

"I don't. The headmaster said he'd contact us by owl."

"If your school closes, you're always welcome at home." Mum's eyes were dark blue in the candlelight. I tried to smile at her, knowing that in her place, I would want the reassurance.

"Is it going to be a long war?" Dad asked. "Will it still be going on after you graduate?"

"In all likelihood," I admitted. "The Ministry and Voldemort have been involved in skirmishes for decades now."

"Will they make you fight?"

I couldn't answer as Mum and Dad gazed at me across empty bread plates, fear and hope in their eyes.

"Must you, Hermione?" Mum asked. I winced at the pain in her voice. I was still her little girl.

"It's the right thing to do," I said. "But I don't plan on going to the front line. I'm sure they need people behind the scenes, too, to strategize, invent..." It sounded reasonable enough, but honestly, I had no idea. I really needed to write to my professors and maybe even the Ministry to clarify that point.

The notion seemed to reassure Mum and Dad somewhat.

I glanced over at Harry, Ron, and Snape. Harry looked tense, and Ron's blustering cheer was replaced by a scowl. None of them were drinking. Their drinks remained untouched at the bar. Snape returned to our table, his face as inscrutable as it had ever been during his time as my professor. Nonetheless, I sensed an ominous energy about him. What, I wondered, had he told Harry and Ron?

"You didn't want to have a drink with them?" I ventured.

"I told them I had another engagement this evening," Snape responded.

"I take it you three are not friends," Dad started to ask, but Mum reached over and pinched his arm. "That hurt, Mary-Anne." He took a pull on his beer. "So, which one are you seeing, Hermione?"

I gasped with embarrassment. And after one beer, too! Still, he _had_ missed lunch trying to fax that report to the London office. Maybe breakfast, too.

The rest of the meal alternated between long silences and stilted questions and answers. It was a pity since it had been so promising starting out. As embarrassing as it was, at least no taboo subjects came up.

"That was a lovely meal," Mum said as the server cleared our plates. None of us answered with much more than an _mmm_, but I had to give her credit for trying. "Would anyone like dessert?"

"I think a walk by the sea would be far better," Snape said.

"That's an excellent idea!" This time, Mum's smile was genuine. "In fact, why don't you and Hermione go now? Thank you for being our guest for dinner."

Snape looked taken aback. I all but stared at him, committing this new side of him to memory. Who knew if it would ever happen again? "It is I who must thank you." His voice was soft and a little sad. "Rarely do people seek my company like this."

"Well, you must come see us again," Mum said. "Hermione's friends are ours, too."

"Shall we?" Snape extended his arm to me.

"Don't stay out too late," Dad said. His face was still ruddy, but he'd recovered his wits somewhat after his meal, a "burger" which was essentially a steak served open-faced on a fancy seed bun.

Snape and I stopped at the cloakroom, where he helped me get my coat on. From there, it was a short walk down a pebbled path to the beach. Smoke from fireplaces added a new scent to the briny air. Despite my coat and having Snape right beside me, the cold quickly overcame me. In no time, I was shivering.

"Here. Buy yourself a thicker coat, Miss Granger." Snape removed his own, more of a cloak, in black, of course. Draped over my shoulders, Snape's coat grazed the ground. I seized the side of it as though it were a bizarrely misshapen dress. Snape crossed his arms over his chest against the brisk wind and bent his head. Thusly we walked from the cheery golden windows of Boulud by the Sea to the now-ominous arches of the Coronation Parade. I wondered what bizarre stories onlookers might make up about us. Not that there was anyone to see.

"What did you tell Harry and Ron?" I finally asked. "How much do they know?"

"I encouraged them to keep their mouths shut."

Oh, brilliant. Apart from how unpleasant vague threats were, I knew they would only make those two curious. Knowing Harry and Ron, consequences, even "terrible" ones would provide about as much defense as my coat had tonight against the chilly sea air.

Since our walk had begun, the uncomfortable feeling had been creeping over me that Snape had something serious on his mind. Sure enough, we stopped under the Coronation Parade arches. It wasn't much warmer in there, but it cut the wind anyway.

"Miss Granger, I have something to tell you."

Everything within me came to a screeching halt, as if this could somehow delay what I feared: an inevitable goodbye.

"There is no time for delicate phrasing. You must not get involved in this war."

"What about Harry and Ron? I can't desert my friends."

"Those children are idealistic fools. They think they're immortal because they survived their first battles. Wait a few years when most of their comrades are dead. That is what war means, Hermione: senseless destruction. It spares nothing, least of all young lives."

"But not everyone needs to fight –"

"Everyone is a pawn in war. The only ones safe are those who started the damned affair: old men like Fudge and Voldemort. I won't let you throw your life away, not for the likes of them and the lies they call ideals and principles!"

"But if _everyone_ is a pawn, there is no escape," I said. "No matter how much I objected to the war."

"Ah, but you have an advantage, Miss Granger," Snape said. "You are Muggle-born."

I stared at him without understanding.

Snape proceeded to explain. "When it became clear that my peers would never accept me, I devoted my life to studying. I know many subjects well and mastered several, Potions among them. Though my work has never been formally published and circulated, I have tested it on volunteers. Well, students and faculty I was able to bribe."

"So you've invented a Peace Potion?"

"This is no laughing matter, Miss Granger. Among my accomplishments, I have created a minor variant of the Philosopher's Stone..." My eyes widened. So that was why he had looked younger! Snape listed several more but I forgot them all as he explained the final one. "This last, I have labored over all summer. It is a potion that causes amnesia in the one who drinks it, but more, it is refined amnesia. You will recall your name, family, even subjects studied in school. But knowledge of the wizarding world, everyone you know in it, and most especially the war, will leave you.

"Why did you make it?" I asked, despite having a hunch about the answer already.

"I have two vials," Snape said. "One for you and one for me. I already know where we might hide among the Muggles and start a new life." He paused, sensing my disapproval. "Sometimes the only way to win a battle is to retreat."

Behind him, waves hurried up the beach, soldiers rushing in and falling back.

"How would we make a life as Muggles, Professor?" I said softly. "Even without our memories, we only know how to live as wizards, you in particular." I shook my head.

"You know Muggle ways and can teach me."

I found myself overwhelmed at all Snape had said, things I had no experience to judge for myself. My mind was exhausted. I shook my head.

"This is not the time to debate, Miss Granger. You and I are in real danger. We must run and find our answers on the way."

"But Professor –"

"Do you know what the irony of being a man is?" Snape said. I started back from the agonized strain in his voice. "We possess physical strength women can only dream of. Yet for all our power, we spend our lives fearing we are too weak to protect those we care about."

I had never heard him speak with such emotion before. But... "You underestimate me, Professor." As the words left my mouth, angry, cruel, and terrible, I glimpsed the tear tracks shining on his face.

"Hermione, I..." Snape broke off, took a rasping breath that was almost a snarl. "I couldn't bear to lose you!"

Any way I looked at it, his way was cowardice. How could I let Harry and Ron fight, maybe even die, while I cringed behind? And if the war should engulf the Muggles... I couldn't think of many modern wars that stayed contained. Seeing Snape's grief and fear, I couldn't tell him, not in those words. He believed he was doing the right thing. And more, it came from love, something I had never thought I'd ascribe to him. What a strange, powerful emotion. He needed me. It was infinitely different from the romance I knew from movies and advertisements. It was raw and painful, and for that, somehow deeper and more true.

"There must be another way," I whispered, thinking as hard and fast for both of us as I could.

Snape shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered. "Please." He stepped into the dark where I couldn't see him for an instant, then fell to his knees with open arms. With shallow, trembling breaths, he pressed me to him.

I ran my hands down his upper back to soothe and comfort him. He pressed his lips to mine, forcing my mouth open. The kiss was so bitter I would almost call it vile. I tried to squirm away, but Snape held me until I swallowed. I pushed away from him, only to find myself light-headed. I let my hand slide down the side of the stone column until I was beside him, on my hands and knees in the sand. My fingers brushed a tiny vial, the same Snape had shown me that contained his latest potion.

"No," I tried to whisper. My throat felt thick; breathing was becoming more and more of an effort. I was caught inside a massive ocean wave and rolling around until I could no longer tell which way was up.

I grabbed at Snape's bare arm, miles above me. Beneath my fingers, the snake coils of his tattoo went on forever. Recognition exploded in my mind, a single burning point of clarity in the growing fog. This was the Dark Mark, the sign of Voldemort's followers! What could it mean that Snape wore it?

The skull laughed wildly at me. I flung Snape's arm away and scuttled from him like a crab. I didn't get far before I fell flat onto the wet sand.

Harry and Ron's letters leaped from my shallow coat pocket and fled down the beach. My spirit followed them into the night.


	4. Searching for Memories Part I

A/N I'm in a better place at work but still have many trials before me. Every one I get through affords me the dubious reward of fighting another day. Still, what choice do I have?

It is my goal to post twice this month (oh wonder of wonders!), today and the last day of November, with both sections approximately the same length. Let's see if I can do it.

Enjoy the story. It was a nice escape for me.

In Search of Memories Part 1

I dreamed myself there again.

No matter what hour I traversed the corridors, whether they were damp bare stone or carpeted in rich red velvet, no matter what direction the dizzying moving stairways took me, I always ended up at the iron door. It rose to a staggering height and was studded with bolts bigger than my thumbs.

Some nights, I shouted into its immense arch of stone, words that made sense in the moment, only to turn to gibberish when I woke. As I uttered the strange words, I waved some sort of stick. Particularly in the dream, this behavior seemed absolutely natural. No matter how I puzzled over it while awake, no explanation came to mind. I kept expecting it, though, like words just on the tip of my tongue

I could count on having this dream two or three times a week, sometimes multiple times a night. Nonetheless, I never could determine why I was wandering those vast castle halls or see how to enter the sealed door or what lay beyond it. It was like turning on the telly and seeing the same episode of a show again and again: frustrating and madly curious at the same time.

Despite how interesting the conversation could have been, I didn't bring it up to my parents. They had been treating me like fine crystal since my accident during our holiday in Kent. I didn't remember the holiday or the accident. They said I had fallen while walking on the slate side of the beach and hit my head. Slippery rocks, and all.

I'd gotten a peculiar case of amnesia from it. Things I ought to remember like my school and classmates were wiped out. Our doctor said it would come back to me if I gave it time. But summer had dwindled to fall with no change. Although term had already started, Mum and Dad had cleared it with the school for me to take a semester off to recover from any complications. Personally I hadn't observed any, though I was nervous to go back to students and subjects I didn't remember.

I propped my pillow up against my headboard and contemplated the gray morning light. There was something vaguely familiar about it, too.

Knowing I wouldn't sleep again, I tiptoed downstairs. Mum would be down soon to get ready for work. I could make her some tea. Dad had already left; his commute was farther.

When would the shadows in the wings of my memory come forth? I wondered as I stirred sugar into my cup of Earl Gray. Why did I have the feeling there would be more to them than what my parents had told me?

"Good morning, Hermione. You're up early." Mum sounded worried.

"Have some tea?" I tried to smile.

Mum smoothed back a strand of hair that had worked loose from her chignon. "Yes. Thank you." We sipped in silence. She had put away the turquoise scrubs she wore during the summer in favor of an autumnal marroon that made me think of berries and colored leaves.

"Hermione, what would you think of this?" Mum passed her mug back and forth from hand to hand. "Your grandmother has been asking us to visit since summer's end. Your father and I are simply too busy, but I know she'd be thrilled to see you."

I stared at her blankly. "I have a grandmother?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. She lives in Brittany, which is in northwest France. She's very active. It must be the good living there in Brittany. Most importantly, I thought it might help you with your recovery."

There was something strange about this. Why did Mum seem so anxious? "Sure, I guess." I shrugged. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Mum took a deep breath and covered her face with a paper napkin. "I just feel responsible for what happened in Folkestone."

Folkestone... The memories I could sometimes sense but not engage with lapped at the edges of my mind like water on the side of a pier. "It'll be okay, Mum." I put my hand on her shoulder.

Mum sniffled. "This term is supposed to be your triumph. Your graduation."

"Don't worry," I insisted. I was going to tell her I didn't know what I was missing but refrained at the last second, guessing that would only make her feel worse.

I spent the day adrift through the house touching things, looking at things, seeking anything that might help me remember. Our family doctor had told me to give it time. I found that I couldn't help myself. It was like losing a tooth and being unable to resist poking my tongue into the space it had been. A month of attempts to recover my memory – always after Mum had left – hadn't harmed me yet, not that it had done any good. I remained in the dark as much as ever.

{****}

I had expected at least a week to get ready for Brittany. But that evening, Mum came home with her hair and coat dripping from the rain and a peculiar urgency in her voice as she asked, "Are you packed?"

I looked up from the stew I was stirring on the stovetop. After spending the entire day at home, it was the least I could do to make dinner for her and Dad. "No," I said, suddenly on my guard. "You never said when grandmother wanted me to visit her." Throughout the day, I had become more uncomfortable with the idea of this visit. Try as I might, I did not remember my grandmother. How would I recognize her when I came to Brittany? If I had spoken French before the accident, I did not know any now. It would be awkward to say the least, staying with my grandmother without my parents or memories. In fact, it bordered on distressing.

"I got your ticket today," Mum said. "You'll leave tomorrow on the first train."

"That's so soon," I said. Suddenly I didn't dare to bring up my concerns.

"I'll help you," Mum said with a smile I was certain was not genuine. "Now let's eat. That stew smells delicious."

{****}

Between Mum and me, we filled two suitcases with clothes. "How long am I visiting Grandmother?" I tried to joke as I struggled to shut the larger one. A combination of uncertainty and fighting the zipper stifled any humor.

"As long as you want," Mum said.

Okay, this was beyond bizarre. "What's going on?" I asked in a small, scared voice. The pause that followed lasted much too long. Silence buzzed in my ears. Mum and I remained frozen where we stood like people in a tableau.

"I just think you'll have a chance to recover in Brittany, is all," Mum answered at last. "But it's not something that should be hurried. You should take as long as you need."

"What's so special about Brittany? If I were going to travel to recover my memories, wouldn't it be better to go back to Folkestone, the last place I'd had them?"

"Stop asking questions, Hermione!" I started at Mum's sharp tone. "It's for your own good, okay?" I didn't miss the quavering of her lip as she hurried from the room.

I perched on the edge of my bed, absently tracing the black, plastic trim on my suitcase. Though I didn't remember, _per se_, it stood to reason that this bag had gone to Folkestone with me. What had happened to me? Was there more to it than Mum and Dad said? More and more, I was getting the uncomfortable feeling that there was.

In my dreams that night, my suitcase joined me in my walk through that castle, wherever it was. Luckily for me, the bag was on wheels. Against the uneven stone floor, it made altogether too much noise for my liking. As always, the passages ended at the iron door. Tonight I had neither stick nor words, so I sat down on the partial stone step in front of it, leaning most of my weight against the pale blue canvas of my luggage. Sitting with my chin in my hands, I noticed that the outermost pocket was open. As I hunted for the zipper, my fingers brushed something on the inside. That was odd. The pouch had been empty when Mum and I were packing. I reached in and pulled out a tiny vial. In the torchlight, I observed that its clear glass sides were stained with an oil-like substance. The longer I looked at it, the greater the sense of familiarity creeping up on me became until I found myself back in my own room sitting upright in bed.

I sat straight up in bed and began shivering. I knew what I had to do. The key to the iron door, or at least a significant clue, was in Folkestone. I had to go there, not Brittany!

{****}

Mum _and_ Dad brought me to King's Cross the next morning. I hadn't expected Dad to see me off. His boss, the American, was practially demanding that he live at work, putting in extra hours in the morning and evening, conferences on holidays, and so on. And yet, his coming was not terribly surprising. By now I had abandoned speculation: there _was_ something going on.

We three crossed long corridors that seemed abandoned without the usual throngs of commuters and settled in hard plastic chairs to wait in uncomfortable silence. Occasionally Mum reached over to squeeze my hand like I was a hospital patient in need of reassurance. Dad didn't touch his blackberry, the American's primitive, preferred means of communicating, once.

As the long wait revealed, we were beyond early. The first passengers didn't join us at the gate until an hour later. To take my mind off my burgeoning sense of paranoia, I scoped them out. They looked my age or a little older. Both were in uniform, though I did not recognize for what country. One was a good head taller than me with touseled brown hair and a slender build. The other, my height, was a solid rock of muscle. His eyes burned with blue vitality against his sun-bronzed skin. Long hours outside had streaked his honey-colored hair – both that of his head and his stubble - with gold.

Perhaps sensing my appraisal, he glanced over and smiled. The floor dropped out of my stomach as his eyes settled on me. I was certain my face had lit up like a stove burner. There would be no mistaking it under these neon lights. I tried to recover my composure – without much success - by staring at my hands.

The next hour passed quickly. Other passengers arrived. The uniformed guys got up and returned with coffee. Dad indulged in a doze. Mum filled me in on Grandmother: her appearence, her personality, what her house looked like. Filled with a sense of the surreal, I jotted down notes and tried to think of how I might get to Folkestone. Without a map, there wasn't much I could do. I'd never explain that one away if I had to call my parents. "Hullo, Mum? Yes, I got off at the wrong stop. No, no, I'm still in England." Brilliant.

At six o'clock, the train pulled in. The doors slid open with a whoosh. When the flood of exiting passengers passed, our group at the gate started for the doors. While the others boarded, Mum and Dad held me fast with tears in their eyes as though they'd never see me again. But that wasn't possible! This was just a visit, right? All the fear and worry that had been gnawing at me, as uncertain as the memories I had forgotten, flashed into savage anger. I wanted to shove them off and yell "What is going on?" so everyone at our gate could hear. Maybe the public embarrassment would jar the truth out of them. Of course, I did nothing.

"Promise you'll call when you get to Brittany," Mum said.

"Yes," I said stiffly.

An announcement proclaimed the last call for my train. I let go of Mum's shoulders. She continued to hold mine.

"Mary-Anne," Dad said gently.

"I know." Mum wiped her hand across her eyes. "We love you, Hermione."

"I love you, too." It was a reflex answer without much feeling behind it. Only later would I find out how glad I was I had said it.

Our train whooshed through London just as sunrise tipped the rooftops in light. Beyond the the Chunnel, we emerged to Paris's mix of ornate old buildings and sleek new architecture.

The entire time, I sat immobile, staring out the window. I hadn't speculated on any of my questions. I felt numb, disconnected from them as though these unsettling things were happening to someone else.

The French countryside was a patchwork quilt of rolling hills in green, gold, and innumerable shades of brown. Here, at last, I started to take notice of the train interior. The two uniformed men were in the cluster of four seats across from me. The burdens on my heart and mind shifted somewhat at the sight, and a hint of a smile touched my lips. Had I known, I might've spent less time on the outside scenary. They were intent on a quiet conversation, just the two of them. The sight seemed familiar, somehow. How, I wondered, did they know each other? And how had they come to be in their positions? Knowing I lacked the courage to approach them, whether they were busy or not, I turned back to the window to think about what kind of people they might be.

Eventually my mind returned to the question of memories, Folkestone, and my parents. Mum had seemed so sad, even scared. What did it all mean?

"Would you like something to drink?" the trolly attendent asked, it seemed from a great distance. She was a middle-aged woman like Mum but with a shock of tea-colored curls that came just to the bottom of her ears.

"Yes, please. Water."

I closed my eyes as she filled a little plastic cup with ice and lifted the carafe. I had carried two memories out of Folkestone with me: the clacking of rocks as the waves moved over them, a sound that always came back to me when water was being poured over ice. The other was a bitter taste I could not identify. I shuddered at the memory. For a moment, I simply held my cup of ice water in my hands.

"Would you like something to drink?" the trolly lady asked the uniformed men. My ears perked up. What would they order? Well, more to the point, what would _he_ order?

"Tea," the tall one said.

"Irish coffee, please," his well-muscled companion requested.

"Certainly. I just love your uniforms." The attendent gave him a positively wicked leer, sweeping up and down his body with her eyes. I just stopped myself from gawping at her. If a man had done that to me, I would start looking for the nearest security guard.

I guess he was used to those kind of looks because he didn't miss a beat, even after she 'steadied' his hand when he took their cups.

"I don't recognize those colors. What country do you two serve?" the attendant asked.

"We're with the UN," the golden-haired man said, becoming absorbed in stirring his coffee.

I laughed silently to myself. Well, that was that. Their conversation was finished.

"Is there anything else you need? Sugar or lemon? An extra shot of Bailey's?" the attendent asked in a syrupy, I-exist-to-serve tone. I frowned. She was certainly making herself at home. I wished I had that kind of nerve. I also hoped she would move out of the way soon. She was almost completely blocking my view, and I wouldn't be riding this train forever. I figured I should start commiting his tan, golden hair, and blue eyes to memory, to say nothing of his uniform, which could not disguise his obviously musclar frame.

"No thank you," I heard one of them say. "What about you, Simon?"

"I'm fine, thanks," the tall, thin man by the window said.

So his name was Simon. What was the _other _soldier's name? Mentally I ran through some possibilities and decided on _Chris_. Yes, he was definitely a _Chris_. Not that I intended to ask.

The attendent continued to linger, grinning as if she had gotten both of their numbers. The moment became oppressively awkward.

"Right, then," Simon said. He raised his cup to his lips. Just when the opening was across from his mouth, the tea inside shot out as though it had been expelled from a garden hose and splashed all over his face. He screamed like a tea kettle and buried his head in his hands. I only glimpsed his face, but already the flesh had turned mottled red.

How was this possible? I wondered amidst the panicked thudding of my heart. The tea couldn't have been that hot, and how had it shot out like that?

"Careful, love. It's hot." The attendent stepped back, her grin widening to demented proportions.

The next thing to happen surprised me even more: Chris flung _his_ cup at the attendent. As it hurtled toward her, the coffee inside exploded out, just as it had from Simon's. Once in the air, it flashed to steam. The trolly lady threw up her hand, and the steam dispersed like an ocean wave that had crashed agasinst a rock.

"Who are you?" Chris demanded.

"That's not for you to know, Ministry dog!" The trolly lady spread her arms, and they just kept growing until one of her hands rested against the ceiling. The other arm, longer than the first, touched the train wall ahead of my row. Cruel black spikes rose out of her flesh with a wet crunching sound. The monstrosity that had been the trolly lady opened her mouth wide; her teeth flashed like a row of needles in the sun.

Sorry for the cliff. This gives me some added incentive to get the second part out there by the end of November. Oh the things we do to motivate. ;)


	5. Searching for Memories Part II

Searching for Memories Part II

From the empty air, Chris pulled out a stick. A scene from my dream flickered across my vision like a lightning flash; had I not held a similar one? There was no time to think about it, however. Chris thrust the stick out in front of him in a sweeping motion. The air in front of him sang and resonated as though he'd cut through it a baseball bat. The former trolly lady shrieked and reeled back, her entire face bruised with purple. Chris bent over Simon, holding his seemingly-magic stick over both their heads. Somehow I knew this was his way of administering first aid.

My forehead buzzed at the sight, and I felt a twinge of fear. Was this battle connected to the memories I had wanted so desperately to recover?

Chris had dealt his opponent a powerful blow, but she had fallen back to her own advantage. As he tried to help Simon, she inched toward them, a spider stealing up on its prey.

"Look out!" I screamed.

Chris did so, just in time to dive over the seats he and Simon had occupied for the last several hours. The monster's barbed arms hurtled into the spot Chris had been. Simon's shouts as he was burned were forgettable mewlings compared to his dying screams. I covered my own ears and screamed with him, trying not to picture trolly lady gleefully eviscerating him.

Finally my voice was too hoarse to continue. I shrank against my chair, cursing that I hadn't remained silent and unseen. At the sight of blood pooling on the carpet, another scream built up inside me, despite my raw throat. I bit it back with all my strength.

"Simon!" With wild eyes, Chris advanced on trolly lady, his fists tightly balled. She cackled and scuttled up into the ceiling. "Come down, damn you!" Chris yelled.

The door at the far end of the car flew open. Three men who wore gray and green uniforms and looked Chris's age entered.

"Come with us quietly, William Alliban, and no one else has to die," the frontmost soldier said. His coat was trimmed with silver braiding, and shoulder-length plumes adorned his hat, signs of rank, I supposed. Though his eyes and hair were dark, his face was meticulously smooth. The entire time I'd seen him, he hadn't stopped sneering. I wasn't entirely sure it was just the shape of his mouth.

Chris – okay, William – drew in his breath sharply. "Soldiers of Voldemort. So she's one of you, too." He nodded toward the grotesque woman.

"That is not for you to know," the sneering soldier answered with breathless pomposity. "You are now the one who shall answer _our_ questions."

"Ask me which one of you I killed first, then!" As William flew at them, a knife flashed into his hand. With his free arm, he wrestled the leader so he was pressed against a seat. Two greencoats rushed to his defense, but as their swords bore down on William, they were flung back. Burning leather and flesh filled the train car with a sweet, putrid odor. As the swords flew through the air, they glowed red hot, as though fresh from the forge. No wonder the others couldn't hold on to them. The attack gave William's opponent time to draw out his stick – no, _wand_ seemed more correct. Perhaps that word had something to do with my lost memories.

The greencoats' leader uttered words that, though I was certain I had never heard before and did not understand, seemed as familiar to me as my parents' faces. His wand took on a sickly green cast. William dropped, moaning, to a crouch on the floor. His arms trembled as if an invisible weight were crushing him. Behind William, the other soldiers regained their feet, recovered their weapons, which had returned to the normal hue of steel.

William's eyebrows drew together, and he gritted his teeth. With agonizing strain, he fought against the unseen power and began to stand. The leader's dark eyes bulged, and he backed away, only to trip. His head struck an armrest on the way down. That broke his hold on William, who charged the other soldiers. From there, everything happened too fast to follow, ending with one greencoat dead and his sword in William's hand.

Hope rose in me, even as color had drained from the leader's face, and his remaining subordinate whimpered. William pointed his sword at them and started to speak.

Suddenly my chest was being crushed. The distorted face of the trolly lady appeared at my shoulder. "Surrender, William Alliban, or this girl dies."

Glancing down, I saw that I was caught in repulsive flesh-colored coils studded with black spikes. When the trolly lady had unleashed her true nature, she had become so large, I had not perceived just what she had become: an immense snake, albeit with arms and spikes. I tore at my captor but to no avail. Realizing I was just wasting air, I sagged helplessly in her grip.

"I will kill every Muggle on this train if I have to," the serpent woman continued. "Think of the stench of their bodies." She drew in a deep breath, and bared her teeth in a grin.

William's eyes, blue fire in the heat of battle, went dark and dull. With a growl of frustration, he flung his sword to the floor.

"Good," the serpent woman hissed.

The horrendous pressure around my torso released. I took several wheezing breaths. Until this moment, I had never truly appreciated breathing!

"Captain Rodrigue, my work here is done," the serpent woman addressed the leader. "Now if you'll excuse me, I –"

"You can't leave. You weren't supposed to kill the other Minsitry dog," the captain cut in. "We need information! And you need to make a statement."

"I 'need' do no such thing," the serpent woman hissed. "I left you _one_. That will be plenty to keep me out of paperwork hell."

Captain Rodrigue's face remained expressionless save for a twitch in his cheek. "You are to stay and fill out the report. That's an order!" It sounded more desperate than commanding, however.

"_Try_ to have them summon me." The serpent woman's coils shimmered like heat above asphault and faded away. In their place stood the unassuming trolly lady. "They will tell you the same things I have." Her tongue was still forked, and it slithered out of her mouth for each _s._

"We'll bring her," Captain Rodrigue said, nodding at me. "To ensure Alliban's good behavior."

"Yessir." The remaining soldier waved his wand with some whispered words. Two burlap bags, about the size of the reusable ones Mum and I brought to the farmers' market, dropped into his hands out of the air. The soldier tossed one to Captain Rodrigue, then opened his sack and started for me.

"What are you doing, Martinez, you fool?" Captain Rodrigue threw up his hands. It was obvious why: the subordinate was scared of William.

"You said to bring her," Martinez said slowly.

"Merlin's night soil," Captain Rodrigue muttered. I just saw him kick William in the back of his legs to get him to kneel before the black bag descended over my head.

As I stumbled down the aisle, I imagined the other passengers watching from under their chairs or flattened against the walls and windows. Every part of me was crying out for help: my racing mind, my trembling hands, my legs and feet which had become leaden blocks I had to labor to move. Fear silenced me more effectively than any gag.

"Stop." Martinez's hand closed over my shoulder. "I'm going to lift you down these stairs." And then he hefted me like a sack of potatoes. I almost lost my footing upon landing. The air around me was cold and still: a country night. I wished I could lift the sack from my eyes and see if I was right.

Behind and somewhat above me, a voice cried out in surprise, and a body hit the ground.

"Watch your step," Captain Rodrigue said smugly.

"You bastard! You kicked me down those stairs!" William Alliban growled.

"Sir!" Martinez protested.

"Don't you 'sir' me, Martinez!" Captain Rodrigue's voice came closer. "Get up, Alliban! Or do you like crawling on the ground like a worm?"

We marched in silence for some distance across ground that crunched like gravel until Martinez again told me to halt. "I'm going to bind your arms for this little ride," he said. "Don't struggle."

_Little ride _must've been a deception tactic. Our journey by that vehicle – whatever it was – seemed to take ages. I wondered if Captain Rodrigue were hitting every bump on purpose, if he had stayed with us at all.

We drove all night and into the dawn, rarely slowing, never stopping. I could feel the sunlight on my face, amplified by the black canvas. It lit up the inside in a peculiar way that made me long for the real thing.

Hunger and thirst proved an unexpected aid to dull my anxiety. It was hard to care about the future when my throat was as dry as the sack over my head and my stomach was rumbling at every breath. The last I'd eaten had been the sweet rolls the trolly lady had served.

I couldn't tell how far the day was gone when we finally stopped in a hissing and squeaking of brakes. Someone threw open the door next to me. I knew at once it was Martinez from the clumsy way he lifted me. I felt strangely grateful he was still with me.

"Please," I croaked when I was on the ground again. "Water."

"Soon." Martinez sounded worried. He led me into a shady area that smelled musty, like an old barn. I could not tell if William and Captain Rodrigue were behind us or not. The floor was dirt or something else soft that muffled our footsteps. The few times we stopped, I heard hinges creak and thought of the iron door in my dream. After the third stop, with murmured passwords and shuffling paperwork, the soft floor gave way to squeaking wooden boards. In addition to Martinez's step behind me, I heard other, heavier footfalls, sensed a larger presence at my side. This was confirmed at a flight of stairs, where Martinez said, "Carry her." No potato sack lifts for this new soldier; he draped me effortlessly over his massive shoulder like I was a towel. It was utterly disorienting, descending this way.

Even at the bottom, he did not put me down for quite a while. When he did, the bag was removed from my head.

Torchlight brighter than the sun gouged into my eyes. "Water," I rasped, stepping toward Martinez. I had intended to raise my hands to show that I meant no harm, only to discover that I was bound in invisible chains. I could move about four feet from the wall before they stopped me.

"It shall be brought," Martinez said. He seemed uncomfortable looking at me. I gave him what I hoped was a piteous look, then swept my gaze around the room. It was a dark, windowless basement with a cement floor and winding wrought iron stairs at the center. The air was damp and cold, and somewhere, I heard water dripping. The sound made me thirstier. A single torch burned near me, illuminating a long stretch of bare floors and walls. If there were other people here with me, I could not determine.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" I asked, perhaps not the wisest move since the soldier with Martinez was the biggest man I had ever seen. His shoulders were so broad,I might have sat comfortably on just one of them. Still, he seemed more statuesque than aggressive.

Shouts from above cut off any answer Martinez might have given. I heard sounds of a scuffle, and a torch dropped, a falling star, from the top of the stairs.

"Go help them, Argos," Martinez said to his beefier companion. Watching the man lumber off was like watching a tree walk.

The big man returned with William Alliban in his clutches. Captain Rodrigue, sporting a black eye I hadn't seen before, and two other soldiers, their uniforms in disarray and their breathing labored, came behind him.

"Argos," Captain Rodrigue said. The big man's eyes flickered. "Hold him against the wall."

Again the words, strangely familiar, were spoken. As Argos released his captive, William started toward Captain Rodrigue, only to stop, gasping like a dog that has run out of leash. Captain Rodrigue had given William barely two feet of chain. William cursed.

"Prepare yourself, William Alliban." Captain Rodrigue sounded as grand as though he had done everything himself. "I have many questions for you."

"Captain," Martinez ventured.

"What?" Captain Rodrigue snapped, making Martinez flinch.

"The girl, she is a Muggle."

"So what?"

"Well, they aren't involved in this war. I'm sure we're violating a bunch of laws..."

"Martinez, do you know the term _collateral damage_?" When Martinez said nothing, Captain Rodrigue threw his hands up. "It means additional unintended damage caused by going after your target. War and collateral damage always go together, no matter how many official documents tell you what to limit and how. It's just the nature of the beast. This girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least she's alive. And I intend to keep her that way, so don't look at me like I'm some kind of heartless bastard."

"But what about releasing her? What if she tells what she's seen? The Muggles aren't supposed to know about all this, about us."

For a minute, Captain Rodrigue looked as young and lost as Martinez. Meanwhile, Argos continued to stare vacantly at the space between the two soldiers. I wondered if he were secretly smarter than he looked.

"If you don't shut up, we'll _have_ to kill her," Captain Rodrigue said at last. "Guard your tongue, Martinez. And speaking of which. William Alliban, I will speak to you at my first opportunity. In the meantime, rest assured that Martinez will be assembling my equipment to help our talk...be more productive." Despite how dire the situation was, I cringed at his cheesy grandeur. All the captain needed was a cape to flourish as he swept off.

"I apologize for getting you into this, Miss Granger," William said.

"How in the world do you know my name?"

"I was sent to protect you. Well, Simon was. I was there to protect him. For all the good it did."

Now I noticed that he spoke stiffly. I guess Captain Rodrigue had gotten his licks in after all, or maybe Argos had. I felt a little bad about my next question. "Explain this war to me. What are Muggles?"

"What do you mean 'explain the war'?" William said. "What could there possibly be to explain?"

"I've had amnesia," I started to say.

"Did they hit you?" William sounded furious enough to tear the basement apart brick by brick.

"No, I've had it since summer. I'm sure I'd remember a war, though. They'd have to broadcast it on the news..."

"Merlin's beard," William whispered. "You really have no idea, do you?"

I shrugged.

"Let me keep this as simple as possible. To start with, the war is between the Dark Forces – that's Captain Rodrigue and his cohorts – and the Ministry of Magic."

"You must be joking," I said. "Magic?" How ridiculous, not to mention impossible. But my memories were stirring like bees after a cold night. There must be something to it, especially after the impossible things I'd seen here and on the train.

"I'm dead serious," William said. "You sound just like a Muggle, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

"What is a Muggle?"

"Why, a person without magic," William said as though that were the most natural thing in the world.

Out of the corner of my eye, a massive, dark shape loomed. I gasped, and even William grabbed at his waist, I assumed for the weapons that had been taken from him.

As it turned out, it was only Argos. The eerie shadow had been caused by the things he carried: two ragged blankets over his arm, a tray of food on top of that, two chairs, their backs hanging from his massive wrists like giant bracelets, a water jug in the opposite hand, and a chamberpot on his bald head. He did not linger after leaving them, nor did he say a word.

Eating and drinking halted my conversation with William for a few minutes. The food was mostly flavorless and had a distinct starchy feel to it. I supposed I was lucky I couldn't see it in the dim light.

William finished well before me and wiped his hand across his mouth. "Hurry, Miss Granger. We have work to do."

"What work?" I said. "Digging our way out?" I held up my plastic spork.

"I hate sporks." William grinned. "Anyway, I have a plan. Captain Rodrigue and company believe you are a Muggle, but Simon's briefing papers said you had the ability. I'll coach you through a spell. It'll distract them long enough for me to get my hands on El Capitan and negotiate for our freedom."

"You must be joking," I said. "Barking mad," I amended when William regarded me in disappointed silence. "I barely even believe in magic."

"What about the things you saw on the train? These invisible chains that keep us here?" William started walking to me, only to stop a good three feet away. "I don't want to strangle myself like I almost did last time."

"I hate to disappoint you. I really do. But there must be a better plan."

"It's the best we've got, and time is running out. If you don't at least try, don't think you'll get to sit here peacefully in the dark. Captain Rodrigue must know that while I'm conditioned to take abuse, I can't stand to see others in trouble. Especially pretty girls."

I scowled, fighting the wave of pleasure rising in me. Pretty girl... "What trouble could I get in? I'm not part of this stupid conflict at all. I have amnesia for goodness sake."

"If Captain Rodrigue couldn't get the information he wanted by torturing me, it won't be long before he thinks to hurt you."

"Brilliant," I muttered. "What do I have to do?"

{****}

Over the next hours, we reviewed the plan several times. "Suppose I try this spell and nothing happens?" I asked William at one point.

"It will still occupy them enough for me to cast one. Or several." William rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "This isn't something we can rehearse. When the time comes, we'll have to think on our feet."

I swallowed, hoping all would go well and very little improvising would be necessary.

"So if this is a prison for wizards, why aren't there spells to stop them from using magic?" I asked.

"This isn't a true prison. It's a remote, barely-manned outpost of the Dark Forces. This basement is a makeshift prison. Did you notice we're the only two down here? Captain Rodrigue is probably looking around for farm equipment to fashion into torture devices." William's expression was a mix of contempt and dread.

"How do you know all that?" I asked, impressed in spite of myself.

"Our first week of initial training, the Ministry made us memorize where the Dark Forces' bases are located. I think we were followed when they took us off the train. It's not that far from the tracks to the base. Captain Rod-up-his-arse wasted a lot of petrol in the hill country."

"We were followed by the Ministry? The good guys?"

"Possibly. I don't want you to get your hopes up," William added quickly. "Right now, we have each other to rely on, and no one else."

"I'm glad we're in this together," I whispered.

As the hours dragged on, the temperature dropped and continued falling. I perched atop my chair, huddled in the blanket Argos had brought.

"Don't fall asleep," William warned. "We don't know when El Capitan will return. He may come back in the middle of the night to throw me off. He'll need every advantage he can get to make me talk."

What secrets, I wondered, did William know? "Why does it have to be Captain Rodrigue that we take hostage?" I asked. Martinez and Argos had passed through after we'd made our plan. "Wouldn't Martinez suffice? He'd certainly be easier,"

"If I had to guess, Captain Rodrigue wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice Martinez," William said after a moment of thought. "But without their captain to think for them, I'm sure Martinez and Argos will cease to be a threat."

Several times in those long, weary hours, my eyelids closed, and I nodded. I tried pacing, but with only four feet of chain, I quickly became tired again. The dying of our torch put an end to my attempt to walk myself alert.

"William, I'm scared," I whispered to the dark. "What if I fall asleep and wake up to find you gone?"

"You won't. I promise," William said. "You're much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Hermione." His words were kind, but I didn't know where his optimism came from. The fear of losing him, of sitting here in the dark, forgotten, or dragged into the light and tortured, imbued me with new energy. That couldn't happen! I watched; I waited. The dark pulsed around me. My bum went numb on the wooden chair, and I shivered constantly, despite the blanket.

At last, the door high above us opened with a boom that sent a shockwave through my body. The hovering torches burned so bright, that though I squinted, tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Easy," William murmured beside me. My heart was pounding so loudly, I wondered if those on the stairs could hear it. Though I was as blind in this new light as I had been in the darkness, somehow I sensed that Captain Rodrigue had returned.

One of our captors placed his torch in the holder near us. By the light, I glimpsed Captain Rodrigue. He sneered as he directed Argos and Martinez to take William by the arms. When I was certain the spell keeping William trapped near the wall was broken, I spoke the words and made the gestures he had taught me. The fires of the torches our captors had thrown to the ground split into seven burning balls and spun toward Argos and Martinez. Argos just stared, but Martinez gasped and let William's arm drop.

William wasted no time knocking Martinez to the ground. Argos grunted and reached for him, but William was too swift. When he had rolled clear of the massive man's reach, William sprang to his feet and snatched the torch in the holder. I hadn't thought it possible for my heart to hammer any faster, but somehow it found a way. My role in our escape – the distraction - was complete. This was the point where everything depended on luck and William's and my quick thinking.

Captain Rodrigue shouted his own spell as William began chanting. His words pushed the soldier backwards so that his feet skidded on the concrete floor, but he could not break William's concentration.

Still murmuring words to his spell, William moved his free hand as though he were stretching taffy, making the flame elongate so it was as tall as his torso. William closed his fist and drew it across the front of the rising fire. I gasped. Somehow William had transfigured a sword of still-raging flame from a mere torch.

"Stop him!" Captain Rodrigue bellowed at Argos and Martinez. The latter remained huddled on the ground; the captain kicked him in the ribs. Argos, however, struck at William, with no apparent fear of the dazzling weapon, even when William landed several blows. I wondered if Argos's flesh was even capable of burning. Suddenly a word from William changed the blade's fire from orange to silvery blue like a welder's flame. Argos yowled in pain and turned his back on William, crouching like a giant rock. None of Captain Rodrigue's threats or obscenities could budge him.

"Alright, Alliban. I should've known that it would be you and me in the end," Captain Rodrigue said. I gasped in horror. He had his own sword, as massive as William's, its fire a sickly green that seemed to deepen the darkness around it.

"All that arrogance must be quite a burden," William retorted. "Let me relieve you of it."

Their battle was brief, a few blows exchanged in a shower of sparks that rivaled a fireworks show. Plainly, William was exhausted. I could tell from the slow way he raised his weapon to parry, the attacks that always fell just short of their mark, his labored breathing.

The whole time, I could have left. Argos and Martinez would not stop me, and Captain Rodrigue was too busy. But something that had nothing to do with the guards waiting in the halls beyond told me to stay. If we were leaving, it would be together.

I'd barely had the thought before William's sword spun through the dark, blue fire whirling, then going out as it hit the ground. My stomach clenched at the sight: William painted in shadows, kneeling before the gloating, grinning captain.

I hadn't wanted to believe Captain Rodrigue would win. Had the fight been a fair one, I'm certain William would have been the victor. As it was, I had somewhat expected this. I crept behind Captain Rodrigue, gripping a wooden chair in both hands. It was too heavy for me to get much power behind my swing, and I'd probably only get one chance. This blow wouldn't be to kill, only to stun while William and I fled.

I had planned to bludgeon the back of the man's head, but nerves and darkness ruined my aim so that I only caught him on the side. Captain Rodrigue whirled around and uttered a spell that flung me into the wall.

I experienced an instant of satisfaction at the blood dribbling down his face; at least my chair had done something. All my hope drained away when I saw William struggling and straining on the ground. I started to get up, only to have the captain grab my hair and jerk me to my feet.

"Who and what are you?" he hissed in my ear. "How did you cast that spell on the torches?"

I moaned and shook my head in terror. Lies and truth slipped from me, sand through a sieve.

"Talk, damn you!" Captain Rodrigue's backhand rang through my head, a thousand clanging bells. Still I could say nothing. I sagged against the wall, one hand frozen to my cheek.

"Stop!" William pleaded.

"So it comes to this." The captain's dark eyes were wild by the green swordlight. He let his sword fall to the ground, where it continued to burn, then pulled his wand from the air. The end lit in similar green to the sword. I thought, bizarely, of a long cigarette.

"I promise you, my dear, if you tell me everything you know, I will be merciful." So saying, Captain Rodrigue easily raised me to my feet and pinned me against the wall with one arm. The wand came closer. I tried to squirm away from the stunning heat of that green light, but my captor's weight and strength were as binding as any fetter.

William thrashed in helpless frustration as the wand came closer to my cheek.

I drew in my breath to scream, shut my eyes tight. Before the tip could sear my skin, the door above flew open so hard it crashed into the opposite wall. I heard shouts, footfalls.

"Agents of Voldemort, put down your weapons! You are outnumbered!"

"The Ministry! The Ministry's forces are here!" William yelled.

Then our rescuers descended, bathed in the exquisite light of day.


End file.
